WTJlt 


'won 


He  worked  desperately.    The  heat  of  the  flames  began  to 
scorch  his  face  and  hands 


THE 

RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

BY 
STEWART  EDWARD  WHITE 


ILLUSTRATED   BY   LEJAREN   A.    HILLER 


NEW  YORK 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


ALl.  RIGHTS  RESERVED.  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 


COPYRIGHT,    1909     1C)  10,  BY  JAMES   HORSBURGH,  JB 


COPYRIGHT,   IQIO,  BY  DOfBLEDAY,  PAGE   &  COMPAQ' 
PUBLISHED,  OCTOBER,   IQI3 


THE  COUNTRY  LITE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


AUTHOR'S   NOTE 

The  geography  in  this  novel  may  easily  be  recognized  by 
one  familiar  with  tlie  country.  For  that  reason  it  is  necessary 
to  state  that  the  characters  therein  are  in  no  manner  to  be 
confused  with  the  people  actually  inhabiting  and  developing 
that  locality.  TIte  Power  Company  promoted  by  Baker  lias 
absolutely  nothing  to  do  with  any  Power  Company  utilizing 
any  streams :  the  delectable  Plant  never  exercised  his  talents 
in  Sierra  North.  The  author  must  decline  to  acknowledge 
any  identifications  of  the  sort.  Plant  and  Baker  and  all  the 
rest  are,  however,  only  to  a  limited  extent  fictitious  characters. 
What  they  did  and  what  they  stood  for  is  absolutely  true. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

He  worked  desperately.      The  heat  of  the  flames 

began  to  scorch  his  face  and  hands    .         .  Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

The  men  calmly  withdrew  the  long  ribbon  of  steel 

and  stood  to  one  side 206 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  he.    The  girl  turned       .        .      332 
Bob  found  it  two  hours'  journey  down      .        .        .568 


PART  ONE 


I 

LATE  one  fall  afternoon,  in  the  year  1898,  a  train 
paused  for  a  moment  before  crossing  a  bridge  over 
a  river.  From  it  descended  a  heavy-set,  elderly 
man.  The  train  immediately  proceeded  on  its  way. 

The  heavy-set  man  looked  about  him,  The  river  and  the 
bottom-land  growths  of  willow  and  hardwood  were  hemmed 
in,  as  far  as  he  could  see,  by  low-wooded  hills.  Only  the 
railroad  bridge,  the  steep  embankment  of  the  right-of-way, 
and  a  small,  painted,  windowless  structure  next  the  water 
met  his  eye  as  the  handiwork  of  man.  The  windowless  struc- 
ture was  bleak,  deserted  and  obviously  locked  by  a  strong 
padlock  and  hasp.  Nevertheless,  the  man,  throwing  on  his 
shoulder  a  canvas  duffle-bag  with  handles,  made  his  way 
down  the  steep  railway  embankment,  across  a  plank  over 
the  ditch,  and  to  the  edge  of  the  water.  Here  he  dropped 
his  bag  heavily,  and  looked  about  him  with  an  air  of  com- 
ical dismay. 

The  man  was  probably  close  to  sixty  years  of  age,  but  florid 
and  vigorous.  His  body  was  heavy  and  round;  but  so  were 
his  arms  and  legs.  An  otherwise  absolutely  unprepossessing 
face  was  rendered  most  attractive  by  a  pair  of  twinkling, 
humorous  blue  eyes,  set  far  apart.  Iron-gray  hair,  with  a 
tendency  to  curl  upward  at  the  ends,  escaped  from  under  his 
hat.  His  movements  were  slow  and  large  and  purposeful. 

He  rattled  the  padlock  on  the  boathouse,  looked  at  his 
watch,  and  sat  down  on  his  duffle-bag.  The  wind  blew 
strong  up  the  river;  the  baring  branches  of  the  willows 
whipped  loose  their  yellow  leaves.  A  dull,  leaden  light  stole 
up  from  the  east  as  the  afternoon  sun  lost  its  strength. 


4  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

By  the-  end  of  ten-  mijiutes,  however,  the  wind  carried 
with  it  the'  creak  of  rowlocks.  A  moment  later  a  light, 
flat  duck-boat. shot  areund, -.the  -bend  and  drew  up  at  the 
float. 

"Well,  Orde,  you  confounded  old  scallywattamus," 
remarked  the  man  on  the  duffle-bag,  without  moving,  "is 
this  your  notion  of  meeting  a  train?" 

The  oarsman  moored  his  frail  craft  and  stepped  to  the 
float.  He  was  about  ten  years  the  other's  junior,  big  of 
frame,  tanned  of  skin,  clear  of  eye,  and  also  purposeful  of 
movement. 

"This  boathouse,"  he  remarked  incisively,  "is  the 
property  of  the  Maple  County  Duck  Club.  Trespassers 
will  be  prosecuted.  Get  off  this  float." 

Then  they  clasped  hands  and  looked  at  each  other. 

"It's  surely  like  old  times  to  see  you  again,  Welton," 
Orde  broke  the  momentary  silence.  "It's  been  —  let's  see 
—  fifteen  years,  hasn't  it?  How's  Minnesota?" 

"Full  of  ducks,"  stated  Welton  emphatically,  "and  if  you 
haven't  anything  but  mud  hens  and  hell  divers  here,  I'm 
going  to  sue  you  for  getting  me  here  under  false  pretences. 
I  want  ducks." 

"Well,  I'll  get  the  keeper  to  shoot  you  some,"  replied  Orde, 
soothingly,  "or  you  can  come  out  and  see  me  kill  'em  if  you'll 
sit  quiet  and  not  rock  the  boat.  Climb  aboard.  It's  getting 
late." 

Welton  threw  aboard  his  duffle-bag,  and,  with  a  dexter- 
ity marvellous  in  one  apparently  so  unwieldy,  stepped  in 
astern.  Orde  grinned. 

"Haven't  forgotten  how  to  ride  a  log,  I  reckon?"  he  com- 
mented. 

Welton  exploded. 

"Look  here,  you  little  squirt!"  he  cried,  "I'd  have  you 
know  I'm  riding  logs  yet.  I  don't  suppose  you'd  know  a 
log  if  you'd  see  one,  you  soft-handed,  degenerate,  old  river- 
hog,  you !  A  golf  ball's  about  your  size ! " 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  5 

"No,"  said  Orde;  "a  fat  old  hippopotamus  named  Wei- 
ton  is  about  my  size  —  as  I'll  show  you  when  we  land  at  the 
Marsh!" 

Welton  grinned. 

" How's  Mrs.  Orde  and  the  little  boy?"  he  inquired. 

"Mrs.  Orde  is  fine  and  dandy,  and  the  'little  boy,'  as  you 
call  him,  graduated  from  college  last  June,"  Orde  replied. 

"You  don't  say!"  cried  Welton,  genuinely  astounded. 
"Why,  of  course,  he  must  have!  Can  he  lick  his  dad?" 

"You  bet  he  can  —  or  could  if  his  dad  would  give  him  a 
chance.  Why,  he's  been  captain  of  the  football  team  for 
two  years." 

"And  football's  the  only  game  I'd  come  out  of  the  woods 
to  see,"  said  Welton.  "I  must  nave  seen  him  up  at  Minne- 
apolis when  his  team  licked  the  stuffing  out  of  our  boys; 
and  I  remember  his  name.  But  I  never  thought  of  him 
as  little  Bobby  —  because  —  well,  because  I  always  did 
remember  him  as  little  Bobby." 

"He's  big  Bobby,  now,  all  right,"  said  Orde,  "and  that's 
one  reason  I  wanted  to  see  you;  why  I  asked  you  to  run  over 
from  Chicago  next  time  you  came  down.  Of  course,  there 
are  ducks,  too." 

"There'd  better  be!"  said  Welton  grimly. 

"I  want  Bob  to  go  into  the  lumber  business,  same  as  his 
dad  was.  This  congressman  game  is  all  right,  and  I  don't 
see  how  I  can  very  well  get  out  of  it,  even  if  I  wanted  to. 
But,  Welton,  I'm  a  Riverman,  and  I  always  will  be.  Irs 
in  my  bones.  I  want  Bob  to  grow  up  in  the  smell  of  the 
woods  —  same  as  his  dad.  I've  always  had  that  ambition 
for  him.  It  was  the  one  thing  that  made  me  hesitate  long- 
est about  going  to  Washington.  I  looked  forward  to  Orde 
&  Son." 

He  was  resting  on  his  oars,  and  the  duck-boat  drifted 
silently  by  the  swaying  brown  reeds. 

Welton  nodded. 

"I  want  you  to  take  him  and  break  him  in.     I'd  rather 


6  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

have  you  than  any  one  I  know.  You're  the  only  one  of  the 
outsiders  who  stayed  by  the  Big  Jam,"  Orde  continued. 
"Don't  try  to  favour  him  —  that's  no  favour.  If  he  doesn't 
make  good,  fire  him.  Don't  tell  any  of  your  people  that 
he's  the  son  of  a  friend.  Let  him  stand  on  his  own  feet. 
If  he's  any  good  we'll  work  him  into  the  old  game.  Just 
give  him  a  job,  and  keep  an  eye  on  him  for  me,  to  see  how 
well  he  does." 

"Jack,  the  job's  his,"  said  Welton.  "But  it  won't  do 
him  much  good,  because  it  won't  last  long.  We're  cleaned  up 
in  Minnesota;  and  have  only  an  odd  two  years  on  some  odds 
and  ends  we  picked  up  in  Wisconsin  just  to  keep  us  busy." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  then?"  asked  Orde,  quietly 
dipping  his  oars  again. 

"I'm  going  to  retire  and  enjoy  life." 

Orde  laughed  quietly. 

"Yes,  you  are!"  said  he.  "You'd  have  a  high  old  time 
for  a  calendar  month.  Then  you'd  get  uneasy.  You'd 
build  you  a  big  house,  which  would  keep  you  mad  for  six 
months  more.  Then  you'd  degenerate  to  buying  subscrip- 
tion books,  and  wheezing  around  a  club  and  going  by  the 
cocktail  route.  You'd  look  sweet  retiring,  now,  wouldn't 
you?" 

Welton  grinned  back,  a  trifle  ruefully. 

"You  can  no  more  retire  than  I  can,"  Orde  went  on. 
"  And  as  for  enjoying  life,  I'll  trade  jobs  with  you  in  a  min- 
ute, you  ungrateful  old  idiot." 

"I  know  it,  Jack,"  confessed  Welton;  "but  what  can  I 
do?  I  can't  pick  up  any  more  timber  at  any  price.  I  tell 
you,  the  game  is  played  out.  We're  old  mossbacks;  and  our 
job  is  done." 

"I  have  five  hundred  million  feet  of  sugar  pine  in  Califor- 
nia. What  do  you  say  to  going  in  with  me  to  manufacture  ?  " 

"The  hell  you  have!"  cried  Welton,  his  jaw  dropping. 
"I  didn't  know  that!" 

"Neither  does  anybody  else.     I  bought  it  twenty  years 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  7 

ago,  under  a  corporation  name.  I  was  the  whole  corpora- 
tion. Called  myself  the  Wolverine  Company." 

"  You  own  the  Wolverine  property,  do  you  ?  " 

"Yes;  ever  hear  of  it?" 

"I  know  where  it  is.  I've  been  out  there  trying  to  get 
hold  of  something,  but  you  have  the  heart  of  it." 

"Thought  you  were  going  to  retire,"  Orde  pointed  out. 

"The  property's  all  right,  but  I've  some  sort  of  notion  the 
title  is  clouded." 

"Why?" 

"Can't  seem  to  remember;  but  I  must  have  come  against 
some  record  somewhere.  Didn't  pay  extra  much  attention, 
because  I  wasn't  interested  in  that  piece.  Something  to 
do  with  fraudulent  homesteading,  wasn't  it?" 

Orde  dropped  his  oars  across  his  lap  to  fill  and  light  a  pipe. 

"That  title  was  deliberately  clouded  by  an  enemy  to 
prevent  my  raising  money  at  the  time  of  the  Big  Jam,  when 
I  was  pinched,"  said  he.  "Frank  Taylor  straightened  it 
out  for  me.  You  can  see  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  most 
of  that  land  I  bought  outright  from  the  original  homesteaders, 
and  the  rest  from  a  bank.  I  was  very  particular.  There's 
one  1 60  I  wouldn't  take  on  that  account." 

"Well,  that's  all  right,"  said  Welton,  his  jolly  eyes  twink- 
ling. "Why  the  secrecy?" 

"I  wanted  a  business  for  Bob  when  he  should  grow  up," 
explained  Orde;  "but  I  didn't  want  any  of  this  'rich  man's 
son'  business.  Nothing's  worse  for  a  boy  than  to  feel  that 
everything's  cut  and  dried  for  him.  He  is  to  understand 
that  he  must  go  to  work  for  somebody  else,  and  stand  strictly 
on  his  own  feet,  and  make  good  on  his  own  efforts.  That's 
why  I  want  you  to  break  him  in." 

"All  right.     And  about  this  partnership?" 

"I  want  you  to  take  charge.  I  can't  leave  Washington. 
We'll  get  down  to  details  later.  Bob  can  work  for  you  there 
the  same  as  here.  By  and  by,  we'll  see  whether  to  tell 
him  or  not." 


8  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

The  twilight  had  fallen,  and  the  shores  of  the  river  were 
lost  in  dusk.  The  surface  of  the  water  itself  shone  with  an 
added  luminosity,  reflecting  the  sky.  In  the  middle  distance 
twinkled  a  light,  beyond  which  in  long  stretches  lay  the  som- 
bre marshes. 

''That's  the  club,"  said  Orde.  "Now,  if  you  disgrace 
me,  you  old  duffer,  I'll  use  you  as  a  decoy!" 

A  few  moments  later  the  two  men,  opening  the  door  of 
the  shooting-box,  plunged  into  a  murk  of  blue  tobacco 
smoke.  A  half-dozen  men  greeted  them  boisterously. 
These  were  just  about  to  draw  lots  for  choice  of  blinds  on 
the  morrow.  A  savoury  smell  of  roasting  ducks  came  from 
the  tiny  kitchen  where  Weber  —  punter,  keeper,  duck-caller 
and  cook  —  exercised  the  last-named  function.  Welton 
drew  last  choice,  and  was  commiserated  on  his  bad  for- 
tune. No  one  offered  to  give  way  to  the  guest,  however. 
On  this  point  the  rules  of  the  Club  were  inflexible. 

Luckily  the  weather  changed.  It  turned  cold;  the  wind 
blew  a  gale.  Squalls  of  light  snow  swept  the  marshes. 
Men  chattered  and  shivered,  and  blew  on  their  wet  fingers, 
but  in  from  the  great  open  lake  came  myriads  of  water- 
fowl, seeking  shelter,  and  the  sport  was  grand. 

"Well,  old  stick-in-the-mud,"  said  Orde  as,  a*  the  end 
of  two  days,  the  men  thawed  out  in  a  smoking  car,  "ducks 
enough  for  you  ?  " 

"Jack,"  said  Welton  solemnly,  "there  are  no  ducks  in 
Minnesota.  They've  all  come  over  here.  I've  had  the  time 
of  my  life.  And  about  that  other  thing:  as  soon  as  our 
woods  work  is  under  way,  I'll  run  out  to  California  and 
look  over  the  ground  —  see  how  easy  it  is  to  log  that  coun- 
try. Then  we  can  talk  business.  In  the  meantime,  send 
Bob  over  to  the  Chicago  office.  I'll  let  Harvey  break  him 
in  a  little  on  the  office  work  until  I  get  back.  When  will 
he  show  up?" 

Orde  grinned  apologetically. 

"The  kid  has  set  his  heart  on  coaching  the  team  this 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  9 

fall,  and  he  don't  want  to  go  to  work  until  after  the  season," 
said  he.  "I'm  just  an  old  fool  enough  to  tell  him  he  could 
wait.  I  know  he  ought  to  be  at  it  now  —  you  and  I  were, 
long  before  his  age;  but  — 

"Oh,  shut  up!"  interrupted  Welton,  his  big  body  shak- 
ing all  over  with  mirth.  "You  talk  like  a  copy-book.  I'm 
not  a  constituent,  and  you  needn't  run  any  bluffs  on  me. 
You're  tickled  to  death  with  that  boy,  and  you  are  hoping 
that  team  will  lick  the  everlasting  daylights  out  of  Chicago, 
Thanksgiving;  and  you  wouldn't  miss  the  game  or  have 
Bob  out  of  the  coaching  for  the  whole  of  California;  and 
you  know  it.  Send  him  along  when  you  get  ready." 


II 

BOB  ORDE,  armed  with  a  card  of  introduction  to  Fox, 
Walton's  office  partner,  left  home  directly  after 
Thanksgiving.  He  had  heard  much  of  Welton  &  Fox 
in  the  past,  both  from  his  father  and  his  father's  associates. 
The  firm  name  meant  to  him  big  things  in  the  past  history 
of  Michigan's  industries,  and  big  things  in  the  vague,  large 
life  of  the  Northwest.  Therefore,  he  was  considerably  sur- 
prised, on  finding  the  firm's  Adams  Street  offices,  to  observe 
their  comparative  insignificance. 

He  made  his  way  into  a  narrow  entry,  containing  merely 
a  high  desk,  a  safe,  some  letter  files,  and  two  bookkeepers. 
Then,  without  challenge,  he  walked  directly  into  a  large 
apartment,  furnished  as  simply,  with  another  safe,  a  type- 
writer, several  chairs,  and  a  large  roll-top  desk.  At  the 
latter  a  man  sprawled,  reading  a  newspaper.  Bob  looked 
about  for  a  further  door  closed  on  an  inner  private  office, 
where  the  weighty  business  must  be  transacted.  There 
was  none.  The  tall,  broad,  lean  young  man  hesitated, 
looking  about  him  with  a  puzzled  expression  in  his  earnest 
young  eyes.  Could  this  be  the  heart  and  centre  of  those 
vast  and  far-reaching  activities  he  had  heard  so  much 
about  ? 

After  a  moment  the  man  in  the  revolving  chair  looked  up 
shrewdly  over  his  paper.  Bob  felt  himself  the  object  of  an 
instant's  searching  scrutiny  from  a  pair  of  elderly  steel- 
gray  eyes.  ' 

"Well?"  said  the  man,  briefly. 

"I  am  looking  for  Mr.  Fox,"  explained  Bob. 

"I  am  Fox." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  11 

The  young  man  moved  forward  his  great  frame  with 
the  easy,  loose- jointed  grace  of  the  trained  athlete.  With- 
out comment  he  handed  his  card  of  introduction  to  the 
seated  man.  The  latter  glanced  at  it,  then  back  to  the 
young  fellow  before  him. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Orde,"  he  unbent  slightly.  "I've 
been  expecting  you.  If  you're  as  good  a  man  as  your 
father,  you'll  succeed.  If  you're  not  as  good  a  man  as 
your  father,  you  may  get  on  —  well  enough.  But  you've 
got  to  be  some  good  on  your  own  account.  We'll  see." 
He  raised  his  voice  slightly.  "Jim!"  he  called. 

One  of  the  two  bookkeepers  appeared  in  the  door- 
way. 

"This  is  young  Mr.  Orde,"  Fox  told  him.  "You  knew 
his  father  at  Monrovia  and  Redding." 

The  bookkeeper  examined  Bob  dispassionately. 

"Harvey  is  our  head  man  here,"  went  on  Fox.  "He'll 
take  charge  of  you." 

He  swung  his  leg  over  the  arm  of  his  chair  and  resumed 
his  newspaper.  After  a  few  moments  he  thrust  the  crumpled 
sheet  into  a  huge  waste  basket  and  turned  to  his  desk, 
where  he  speedily  lost  himself  in  a  mass  of  letters  and 
papers. 

Harvey  disappeared.  Bob  stood  for  a  moment,  then  took 
a  seat  by  the  window,  where  he  could  look  out  over  the 
smoky  city  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  wintry  lake  beyond. 
As  nothing  further  occurred  for  some  time,  he  removed  his 
overcoat,  and  gazed  about  him  with  interest  on  the  framed 
photographs  of  logging  scenes  and  camps  that  covered  the 
walls.  At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  Harvey  returned  from 
the  small  outer  office.  Harvey  was,  perhaps,  fifty-five  years 
of  age,  exceeding  methodical,  very  competent. 

"Can  you  run  a  typewriter?"  he  inquired. 

"A  little,"  said  Bob. 

"Well,  copy  this,  with  a  carbon  duplicate." 

Bob  took  the  paper  Harvey  extended  to  him.     He  found 


12  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

it  to  be  a  list,  including  hundreds  of  items.     The  first  few 
lines  were  like  this: 

Sec.  4  T,  6  N.  R.,  26  W     S.  W.  J  of  N.  W.  J 

4          6  26  N.  W.  1  of  N.  W.  J 

4  6  26  S.  W.  }  of  S.  W.  J 

5  6  26  S.  W.  j  of  N.  W.  J 
5          6  26  S.  E.  i  of  N.  W.  J 

After  an  interminable  sequence,  another  of  the  figures 
would  change,  or  a  single  letter  of  the  alphabet  would  shift. 
And  so  on,  column  after  column.  Bob  had  not  the  remotest 
notion  of  what  it  all  meant,  but  he  copied  it  and  handed  the 
result  to  Harvey.  In  a  few  moments  Harvey  returned. 

"Did  you  verify  this?"  he  asked. 

"What?  "Bob  inquired.  . 

"Verify  it,  check  it  over,  compare  it,"  snapped  Harvey, 
impatiently. 

Bob  took  the  list,  and  with  infinite  pains  which,  nevertheless, 
could  not  prevent  him  from  occasionally  losing  the  place 
in  the  bewilderment  of  so  many  similar  figures,  he  managed 
to  discover  that  he  had  omitted  three  and  miscopied  two. 
He  corrected  these  mistakes  with  ink  and  returned  the  list 
to  Harvey.  Harvey  looked  sourly  at  the  ink  marks,  and 
gave  the  boy  another  list  to  copy. 

Bob  found  this  task,  which  lasted  until  noon,  fully  as 
exhilarating  as  the  other.  When  he  returned  his  copies  he 
ventured  an  inquiry. 

"What  are  these?"  he   asked. 

"Descriptions,"  snapped  Harvey. 

In  time  he  managed  to  reason  out  the  fact  that  they 
were  descriptions  of  land;  that  each  item  of  the  many  hun- 
dreds meant  a  separate  tract.  Thus  the  first  line  of  his 
first  copy,  translated,  would  have  read  as  follows: 

"The  southwest  quarter  of  the  northwest  quarter  of  sec- 
tion number  four,  township  number  six,  north,  range  num- 
ber twenty-six,  west." 

— And  that  it  represented  forty  acres  of  timber  land.    The 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  13 

stupendous  nature  of  such  holdings  made  him  gasp,  and  he 
gasped  again  when  he  realized  that  each  of  his  mistakes 
meant  the  misplacement  on  the  map  of  enough  for  a  good- 
sized  farm.  Nevertheless,  as  day  succeeded  day,  and  the 
lists  had  no  end,  the  mistakes  became  more  difficult  to  avoid. 
The  S,  W,  E,  and  N  keys  on  the  typewriter  bothered  him, 
hypnotized  him,  forced  him  to  strike  fantastic  combinations 
of  their  own.  Once  Harvey  entered  to  point  out  to  him  an 
impossible  N.  S. 

Over  his  lists  Harvey,  the  second  bookkeeper,  and  Fox 
held  long  consultations.  Then  Bob  leaned  back  in  his 
office  chair  to  examine  for  the  hundredth  time  the  framed 
photographs  of  logging  crews,  winter  scenes  in  the  forest, 
record  loads  of  logs;  and  to  speculate  again  on  the  maps,  deer 
heads,  and  hunting  trophies.  At  first  they  had  appealed  to 
his  imagination.  Now  they  had  become  too  familiar.  Out 
the  window  were  the  palls  of  smoke,  gigantic  buildings, 
crevasse-like  streets,  and  swirling  winds  of  Chicago. 

Occasionally  men  would  drift  in,  inquiring  for  the  heads 
of  the  firm.  Then  Fox  would  hang  one  leg  over  the  arm  of 
his  swinging  chair,  light  a  cigar,  and  enter  into  desultory 
conversation.  To  Bob  a  great  deal  of  time  seemed  thus  to 
be  wasted.  He  did  not  know  that  big  deals  were  decided  in 
apparently  casual  references  to  business. 

Other  lists  varied  the  monotony.  After  he  had  finished 
the  tax  lists  he  had  to  copy  over  every  description  a  second 
time,  with  additional  statistics  opposite  each,  like  this: 

S.  W.  1  of  N.  W.  },  T.  4  N.  R.,  17,  W.  Sec.  32, 
W.  P.  68,  N.  16,  H.  5. 

The  last  characters  translated  into :  "White  pine,  68,000 
feet;  Norway  pine,  16,000  feet;  hemlock,  5,000  feet,"  and 
that  inventoried  the  standing  timber  on  the  special  forty 
acres. 

And  occasionally  he  tabulated  for  reference  long  statistics 
on  how  Camp  14  fed  its  men  for  32  cents  a  day  apiece,  while 
Camp  22  got  it  down  to  27  cents. 


14  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

That  was  all,  absolutely  all,  except  that  occasionally  they 
sent  him  out  to  do  an  errand,  or  let  him  copy  a  wordy  con- 
tract with  a  great  many  wher  eases  and  wherefores. 

Bob  little  realized  that  nine-tenths  of  this  timber  —  all 
that  wherein  S  P  (sugar  pine)  took  the  place  of  W  P  — 
was  in  California,  belonged  to  his  own  father,  and  would 
one  day  be  his.  For  just  at  this  time  the  principal  labour 
of  the  office  was  in  checking  over  the  estimates  on  the  West- 
ern tract. 

Bob  did  his  best  because  he  was  a  true  sportsman,  and  he 
had  entered  the  game,  but  he  did  not  like  it,  and  the  slow, 
sleepy  monotony  of  the  office,  with  its  trivial  tasks  which 
he  did  not  understand,  filled  him  with  an  immense  and 
cloying  languor.  The  firm  seemed  to  be  dying  of  the  sleep- 
ing sickness.  Nothing  ever  happened.  They  filed  their 
interminable  statistics,  and  consulted  their  interminable 
books,  and  marked  squares  off  their  interminable  maps,  and 
droned  along  their  monotonous,  unimportant  life  in  the 
same  manner  day  after  day.  Bob  was  used  to  out-of-doors, 
used  to  exercise,  used  to  the  animation  of  free  human  inter- 
course. He  watched  the  clock  in  spite  of  himself.  He  made 
mistakes  out  of  sheer  weariness  of  spirit,  and  in  the  footing 
of  the  long  columns  of  figures  he  could  not  summon  to  his 
assistance  the  slow,  painstaking  enthusiasm  for  accuracy 
which  is  the  sole  salvation  of  those  who  would  get  the  answer. 
He  was  not  that  sort  of  chap. 

But  he  was  not  a  quitter,  either.  This  was  life.  He 
tried  conscientiously  to  do  his  best  in  it.  Other  men  did; 
so  could  he. 

The  winter  moved  on  somnolently.  He  knew  he  was  not 
making  a  success.  Harvey  was  inscrutable,  taciturn,  not  to 
be  approached.  Fox  seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  official 
existence,  although  he  was  hearty  enough  in  his  morning 
greetings  to  the  young  man.  The  young  bookkeeper,  Archie, 
was  more  friendly,  but  even  he  was  a  being  apart,  alien,  one 
of  the  strangely  accurate  machines  for  the  putting  down  and 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  15 

docketing  of  these  innumerable  and  unimportant  figures. 
He  would  have  liked  to  know  and  understand  Bob,  just  as 
the  latter  would  have  liked  to  know  and  understand  him, 
but  they  were  separated  by  a  wide  gulf  in  which  whirled 
the  nothingnesses  of  training  and  temperament.  However, 
Archie  often  pointed  out  mistakes  to  Bob  before  the  sar- 
donic Harvey  discovered  them.  Harvey  never  said  any- 
thing. He  merely  made  a  blue  pencil  mark  in  the  margin, 
and  handed  the  document  back.  But  the  weariness  of  his 
smile ! 

One  day  Bob  was  sent  to  the  bank.  His  business  there 
was  that  of  an  errand  boy.  Discovering  it  to  be  sleeting, 
he  returned  for  his  overcoat.  Harvey  was  standing  rigid  in 
the  door  of  the  inner  office,  talking  to  Fox. 

"He  has  an  ingrained  inaccuracy.  He  will  never  do 
for  business,"  Bob  caught. 

Archie  looked  at  him  pityingly. 


HI 

THE  winter  wore  away.  Bob  dragged  himself  out  of 
bed  every  morning  at  half-past  six,  hurried  through 
a  breakfast,  caught  a  car — and  hoped  that  the  bridge 
would  be  closed.  Otherwise  he  would  be  late  at  the  office, 
which  would  earn  him  Harvey's  marked  disapproval.  Bob 
could  not  see  that  it  mattered  much  whether  he  was  late  or  not. 
Generally  he  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  for  an  hour  or  so. 
At  noon  he  ate  disconsolately  at  a  cheap  saloon  restaurant. 
At  five  he  was  free  to  go  out  among  his  own  kind  —  with 
always  the  thought  before  him  of  the  alarm  clock  the  follow- 
ing morning. 

One  day  he  sat  by  the  window,  his  clean,  square  chin  in 
his  hand,  his  eyes  lost  in  abstraction.  As  he  looked,  the 
winter  murk  parted  noiselessly,  as  though  the  effect  were 
prearranged;  a  blue  sky  shone  through  on  a  glint  of  bluer 
water;  and,  wonder  of  wonders,  there  through  the  grimy 
dirty  roar  of  Adams  Street  a  single,  joyful  robin  note  flew  up 
to  him. 

At  once  a  great  homesickness  overpowered  him.  He 
could  see  plainly  the  half-sodden  grass  of  the  campus,  the 
budding  trees,  the  red  "gym"  building,  and  the  crowd 
knocking  up  flies.  In  a  little  while  the  shot  putters  and 
jumpers  would  be  out  in  their  sweaters.  Out  at  Regents' 
Field  the  runners  were  getting  into  shape.  Bob  could 
almost  hear  the  creak  of  the  rollers  smoothing  out  the  tennis 
courts;  he  could  almost  recognize  the  voices  of  the  fellows 
perching  about,  smell  the  fragrant  reek  of  their  pipes,  savour 
the  sweet  spring  breeze.  The  library  clock  boomed  four 
times,  then  clanged  the  hour.  A  rush  of  feet  from  all  the 

16 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  17 

recitation  rooms  followed  as  a  sequence,  the  opening  of 
doors,  the  murmur  of  voices,  occasionally  a  shout.  Over 
it  sounded  the  sharp,  half-petulant  advice  of  the  coaches 
and  the  little  trainer  to  the  athletes.  It  was  getting  dusk. 
The  campus  was  emptying.  Through  the  trees  shone  lights. 
And  Bob  looked  up,  as  he  had  so  often  done  before,  to  see 
the  wonder  of  the  great  dome  against  the  afterglow  of  sunset 

Harvey  was  examining  him  with  some  curiosity. 

"Copied  those  camp  reports?"  he  inquired. 

Bob  glanced  hastily  at  the  clock.  He  had  been  dreaming 
over  an  hour. 

A  little  later  Fox  came  in;  and  a  little  after  that  Harvey 
returned  bringing  in  his  hand  the  copies  of  the  camp  reports, 
but  instead  of  taking  them  directly  to  Bob  for  correction, 
as  had  been  his  habit,  he  laid  them  before  Fox.  The  latter 
picked  them  up  and  examined  them.  In  a  moment  he, 
dropped  them  on  his  desk. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  demanded  of  Harvey,  "  that 
seventeen  only  ran  ten  thousand?  Why,  it's  preposterous  I 
Saw  it  myself.  It  has  a  half-million  on  it,  if  there's  a  stick. 
Let's  see  Parsons's  letter." 

While  Harvey  was  gone,  Fox  read  further  in  the  copy. 

"See  here,  Harvey,"  he  cried,  "something's  dead  wrong, 
We  never  cut  all  this  hemlock.  Why,  hemlock's  'way 
down." 

Harvey  laid  the  original  on  the  desk.  After  a  second 
Fox's  face  cleared. 

"Why,  this  is  all  right.  There  were  480,000  on  seventeen* 
And  that  hemlock  seems  to  have  got  in  the  wrong  column. 
You  want  to  be  a  little  more  careful,  Jim.  Never  knew 
that  to  happen  before.  Weren't  out  with  the  boys  last 
night,  were  you?" 

But  Harvey  refused  to  respond  to  frivolity. 

"It's  never  happened  before  because  I  never  let  it  happen 
before,"  he  replied  stiffly.  "There  have  been  mistakes  like 
that,  and  worse,  in  almost  every  report  we've  filed.  I've 


1 8  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

cut  them  out.  Now,  Mr.  Fox,  I  don't  have  much  to  say, 
but  I'd  rather  do  a  thing  myself  than  do  it  over  after  some- 
body else.  We've  got  a  good  deal  to  keep  track  of  in  this 
office,  as  you  know,  without  having  to  go  over  everybody 
else's  work  too." 

"H'm,"  said  Fox,  thoughtfully.  Then  after  a  moment, 
"HI  see  about  it." 

Harvey  went  back  to  the  outer  office,  and  Fox  turned  at 
once  to  Bob. 

"  Well,  how  is  it  ?"  he  asked.     "  How  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Bob.  "I'm  trying,  Mr.  Fox. 
Don't  think  it  isn't  that.  But  it's  new  to  me,  and  I  can't 
seem  to  get  the  hang  of  it  right  away." 

"  I  see.     How  long  you  been  here  ?  " 

"A  little  over  four  months." 

Fox  swung  back  in  his  chair  leisurely. 

"You  must  see  you're  not  fair  to  Harvey,"  he  announced. 
"That  man  carries  the  details  of  four  businesses  in  his  head, 
he  practically  does  the  clerical  work  for  them  all,  and  he 
never  seems  to  hurry.  Also,  he  can  put  his  hand  without 
hesitation  on  any  one  of  these  documents,"  he  waved  his 
hand  about  the  room.  "I  can't." 

He  stopped  to  light  the  stub  of  a  long-extinct  cigar. 

"I  can't  make  it  hard  for  that  sort  of  man.  So  I  guess 
we'll  have  to  take  you  out  of  the  office.  Still,  I  promised 
Welton  to  give  you  a  good  try-out.  Then,  too,  I'm  not  satis- 
fied in  my  own  mind.  I  can  see  you  are  trying.  Either 
you're  a  damn  fool  or  this  college  education  racket  has  had 
the  same  effect  on  you  as  on  most  other  young  cubs.  If  you're 
the  son  of  your  father,  you  can't  be  entirely  a  damn  fool.  If 
it's  the  college  education,  that  will  probably  wear  off  in  time. 
Anyhow,  I  think  I'll  take  you  up  to  the  mill.  You  can  try 
the  office  there.  Collins  is  easy  to  get  on  with,  and  of  course 
there  isn't  the  same  responsibility  there." 

In  the  buffeting  of  humiliation  Bob  could  not  avoid  a 
fleeting  inner  smile  over  this  last  remark.  Responsibility! 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  19 

In  this  sleepy,  quiet  backwater  of  a  tenth-floor  office,  full  of 
infinite  little  statistics  that  led  nowhere,  that  came  to  no 
conclusion  except  to  be  engulfed  in  dark  files  with  hundreds 
of  their  own  kind,  aimless,  useless,  annoying  as  so  many 
gadflies!  Then  he  set  his  face  for  the  further  remarks. 

"  Navigation  will  open  this  week,"  Fox's  incisive  tones 
went  on,  "and  our  hold-overs  will  be  moved  now.  It  will 
be  busy  there.  We  shall  take  the  eight  o'clock  train 
to-night."  He  glanced  sharply  at  Bob's  lean,  set  face.  "I 
assume  you'll  go?" 

Bob  was  remembering  certain  trying  afternoons  on  the 
field  when  as  captain,  and  later  as  coach,  he  had  told  some 
very  high-spirited  boys  what  he  considered  some  wholesome 
truths.  He  was  remembering  the  various  ways  in  which 
they  had  taken  his  remarks. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  replied. 

"Well,  you  can  go  home  now  and  pack  up,"  said  Fox. 
"Jim!"  he' shot  out  in  his  penetrating  voice;  then  to  Harvey, 
"Make  out  Orde's  check." 

Bob  closed  his  desk,  and  went  into  the  outer  office  to 
receive  his  check.  Harvey  handed  it  to  him  without  com- 
ment, and  at  once  turned  back  to  his  books.  Bob  stood 
irresolute  a  moment,  then  turned  away  without  farewell. 

But  Archie  followed  him  into  the  hall. 

"I'm  mighty  sorry,  old  man,"  he  whispered,  furtively. 
"Did  you  get'the  G.  B.?" 

"I'm  going  up  to  the  mill  office,"  replied  Bob. 

"Oh!"  the  other  commiserated  him.  Then  with  an 
effort  to  see  the  best  side,  "Still  you  could  hardly  expect 
to  jump  right  into  the  head  office  at  first.  I  didn't  much 
think  you  could  hold  down  a  job  here.  You  see  there's  too 
much  doing  here.  Well,  good-bye.  Good  luck  to  you, 
old  man." 

There  it  was  again,  the  insistence  on  the  responsibility, 
the  activity,  the  importance  of  that  sleepy,  stuffy  little  office 
with  its  two  men  at  work,  its  leisure,  its  aimlessness.  On 


20  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

his  way  to  the  car-line  Bob  stopped  to  look  in  at  an  open 
door.  A  dozen  men  were  jumping  truck  loads  of  boxes 
here  and  there.  Another  man  in  a  peaked  cap  and  a  silesia 
coat,  with  a  pencil  behind  his  ear  and  a  manifold  book  stick- 
ing out  of  his  pocket  shouted  orders,  consulted  a  long  list, 
marked  boxes  and  scribbled  in  a  shipping  book.  Dim  in  the 
background  huge  freight  elevators  rose  and  fell,  burdened 
with  the  mass  of  indeterminate  things.  Truck  horses, 
great  as  elephants,  magnificently  harnessed  with  brass 
ornaments,  drew  drays,  big  enough  to  carry  a  small  house, 
to  the  loading  platform  where  they  were  quickly  laden  and 
sent  away.  From  an  opened  upper  window  came  the  busy 
click  of  many  typewriters.  Order  in  apparent  confusion, 
immense  activity  at  a  white  heat,  great  movement,  the 
clanging  of  the  wheels  of  commerce,  the  apparition  and 
embodiment  of  restless  industry  —  these  appeared  and 
vanished,  darted  in  and  out,  were  plain  to  be  seen  and  were 
vague  through  the  murk  and  gloom.  Bob  glanced  up  at  the 
emblazoned  sign.  He  read  the  firm's  name  of  well-known 
wholesale  grocers.  As  he  crossed  the  bridge  and  proceeded 
out  Lincoln  Park  Boulevard  two  figures  rose  to  him  and 
stood  side  by  side.  One  was  the  shipping  clerk  in  his  peaked 
cap  and  silesia  coat,  hurried,  busy,  commanding,  full  of 
responsibility;  the  other  was  Harvey,  with  his  round,  black 
skull  cap,  his  great,  gold-bowed  spectacles,  entering  minutely, 
painstakingly,  deliberately,  his  neat  little  figures  in  a  neat, 
large  book. 


IV 

THE  train  stopped  about  noon  at  a  small  board  town. 
Fox  and  Bob  descended.  The  latter  drew  his  lungs 
full  of  the  sparkling  clear  air  and  felt  inclined  to  shout. 
The  thing  that  claimed  his  attention  most  strongly  was 
the  dull  green  band  of  the  forest,  thick  and  impenetrable  to 
the  south,  fringing  into  ragged  tamaracks  on  the  east,  opening 
into  a  charming  vista  of  a  narrowing  bay  to  the  west.  North- 
ward the  land  ran  down  to  sandpits  and  beyond  them 
tossed  the  vivid  white  and  blue  of  the  Lake.  Then  when 
his  interest  had  detached  itself  from  the  predominant  note 
of  the  imminent  wilderness,  predominant  less  from  its  physical 
size  —  for  it  lay  in  remote  perspective  —  than  from  a  certain 
indefinable  and  psychological  right  of  priority,  Bob's  eye  was 
at  once  drawn  to  the  huge  red-painted  sawmill,  with  its 
very  tall  smokestacks,  its  row  of  water  barrels  along  the 
ridge,  its  uncouth  and  separate  conical  sawdust  burner,  and 
its  long  lines  of  elevated  tramways  leading  out  into  the 
lumber  yard  where  was  piled  the  white  pine  held  over  from 
the  season  before.  As  Bob  looked,  a  great,  black  horse 
appeared  on  one  of  these  aerial  tramways,  silhouetted  against 
the  sky.  The  beast  moved  accurately,  his  head  held  low 
against  his  chest,  his  feet  lifted  and  planted  with  care. 
Behind  him  rumbled  a  whole  train  of  little  cars  each  laden 
with  planks.  On  the  foremost  sat  a  man,  his  shoulders 
bowed,  driving  the  horse.  They  proceeded  slowly,  leisurely, 
without  haste,  against  the  brightness  of  the  sky.  The 
spider  supports  below  them  seemed  strangely  inadequate 
to  their  mass,  so  that  they  appeared  in  an  occult  manner 
to  maintain  their  elevation  by  some  buoyancy  of  their  own, 


21 


22  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

some  quality  that  sustained  them  not  only  in  their  distance 
above  the  earth  but  in  a  curious,  decorative,  extra-human 
world  of  their  own.  After  a  moment  they  disappeared 
behind  the  tall  piles  of  lumber. 

Against  the  sky,  now,  the  place  of  the  elephantine  black 
horse  and  the  little  tram  cars  and  the  man  was  taken  by  the 
masts  of  ships  lying  beyond.  They  rose  straight  and  tali, 
their  cordage  like  spider  webs,  in  a  succession  of  regular 
spaces  until  they  were  lost  behind  the  mill.  From  the 
exhaust  of  the  mill's  engine  a  jet  of  white  steam  shot  up 
sparkling.  Close  on  its  apparition  sounded  the  exultant, 
high-keyed  shriek  of  the  saw.  It  ceased  abruptly.  Then 
Bob  became  conscious  of  a  heavy  rud,  thud  of  mill  machinery. 

All  this  time  he  and  Fox  were  walking  along  a  narrow 
board  walk,  elevated  two  or  three  feet  above  the  sawdust- 
strewn  street.  They  passed  the  mill  and  entered  the  cool 
shade  of  the  big  lumber  piles.  Along  their  base  lay  half- 
melted  snow.  Soggy  pools  soaked  the  ground  in  the  exposed 
places.  Bob  breathed  deep  of  the  clear  air,  keenly  conscious 
of  the  freshness  of  it  after  the  murky  city.  A  sweet  and 
delicate  odour  was  abroad,  an  odour  elusive  yet  pungent, 
an  aroma  of  the  open.  The  young  man  sniffed  it  eagerly, 
this  essence  of  fresh  sawdust,  of  new-cut  pine,  of  sawlogs 
dripping  from  the  water,  of  faint  old  reminiscence  of  cured 
lumber  standing  in  the  piles  of  the  year  before,  and  more 
fancifully  of  the  balsam  and  spruce,  the  hemlock  and  pine 
of  the  distant  forest. 

"Great!"  he  cried  aloud,  "I  never  knew  anything  like 
it!  What  a  country  to  train  in!" 

"All  this  lumber  here  is  going  to  be  sold  within  the  next 
two  months,"  said  Fox  with  the  first  approach  to  enthusiasm 
Bob  had  ever  observed  in  him.  "All  of  it.  It's  got  to  be 
carried  down  to  the  docks,  and  tallied  there,  and  loaded  in 
those  vessels.  The  mill  isn't  much  —  too  old-fashioned. 
We  saw  with  '  circulars'  instead  of  band-saws.  Not  like  our 
Minnesota  mills.  We  bought  the  plant  as  it  stands.  Still 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  23 

we  turn  out  a  pretty  good  cut  every  day,  and  it  has  to  be 
run  out  and  piled." 

They  stepped  abruptly,  without  transition,  into  the  town. 
A  double  row  of  unpainted  board  shanties  led  straight  to 
the  water's  edge.  This  row  was  punctuated  by  four  build- 
ings different  from  the  rest  —  a  huge  rambling  structure 
with  a  wide  porch  over  which  was  suspended  a  large  bell; 
a  neatly  painted  smaller  building  labelled  "Office";  a  trim 
house  surrounded  by  what  would  later  be  a  garden;  and  a 
square-fronted  store.  The  street  between  was  soft  and 
springy  with  sawdust  and  finely  broken  shingles.  Various 
side  streets  started  out  bravely  enough,  but  soon  petered 
out  into  stump  land.  Along  one  of  them  were  extensive 
stables. 

Bob  followed  his  conductor  in  silence.  After  an  interval 
they  mounted  short  steps  and  entered  the  office. 

Here  Bob  found  himself  at  once  in  a  small  entry  railed 
off  from  the  main  room  by  a  breast-high  line  of  pickets  strong 
enough  to  resist  a  battering-ram.  A  man  he  had  seen  walk- 
ing across  from  the  mill  was  talking  rapidly  through  a.  tiny 
wicket,  emphasizing  some  point  on  a  soiled  memorandum 
by  the  indication  of  a  stubby  forefinger.  He  was  a  short, 
active,  blue-eyed  man,  very  tanned.  Bob  looked  at  him  with 
interest,  for  there  was  something  about  him  the  young  man 
did  not  recognize,  something  he  liked  —  a  certain  inde- 
pendent carriage  of  the  head,  a  certain  self-reliance  in  the 
set  of  his  shoulders,  a  certain  purposeful  directness  of  his 
whole  personality.  When  he  caught  sight  of  Fox  he  turned 
briskly,  extending  his  hand. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Fox?"  he  greeted.     "  Just  in?" 

"Hullo,  Johnny,"  replied  Fox,  "how  are  things?  I  see 
you're  busy." 

"Yes,  we're  busy,"  replied  the  man,  "and  we'll  keep 
busy." 

"Everything  going  all  right?" 

"Pretty  good.     Poor  lot  of  men  this  year.     A  good  many 


24  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

of  the  old  men  haven't  showed  up  this  year  —  some  sort  of 
pull-out  to  Oregon  and  California.  I'm  having  a  little 
trouble  with  them  off  and  on." 

"I'll  bet  on  you  to  stay  on  top,"  replied  Fox  easily.  "I'll 
be  over  to  see  you  pretty  soon." 

The  man  nodded  to  the  bookkeeper  with  whom  he  had 
been  talking,  and  turned  to  go  out.  As  he  passed  Bob,  that 
young  man  was  conscious  of  a  keen,  gimlet  scrutiny  from  the 
blue  eyes,  a  scrutiny  instantaneous,  but  which  seemed  to 
penetrate  his  very  flesh  to  the  soul  of  him.  He  experienced 
a  distinct  physical  shock  as  at  the  encountering  of  an  ele- 
mental force. 

He  came  to  himself  to  hear  Fox  saying: 

"That's  Johnny  Mason,  our  mill  foreman.  He  has  charge 
of  all  the  sawing,  and  is  a  mighty  good  man.  You'll  see  more 
of  him." 

The  speaker  opened  a  gate  in  the  picket  railing  and  stepped 
inside. 

A  long  shelf  desk,  at  which  were  high  stools,  backed  up 
against  the  pickets ;  a  big  round  stove  occupied  the  centre ;  a 
safe  crowded  one  corner.  Blue  print  maps  decorated  the 
walls.  Coarse  rope  matting  edged  with  tin  strips  protected 
the  floor.  A  single  step  down  through  a  door  led  into  a 
painted  private  office  where  could  be  seen  a  flat  table  desk. 
In  the  air  hung  a  mingled  odour  of  fresh  pine,  stale  tobacco, 
and  the  closeness  of  books. 

Fox  turned  at  once  sharply  to  the  left  and  entered  into 
earnest  conversation  with  a  pale,  hatchet-faced  man  of 
thirty-five,  whom  he  addressed  as  "Collins."  In  a  moment 
he  turned,  beckoning  Bob  forward. 

"Here's  a  youngster  for  you,  Collins,"  said  he,  evidently 
continuing  former  remarks.  "Young  Mr.  Orde.  He's 
been  in  our  home  office  awhile,  but  I  brought  him  up  to 
help  you  out.  He  can  get  busy  on  your  tally  sheets  and 
time  checks  and  tally  boards,  and  sort  of  ease  up  the  strain 
a  little." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  25 

"  I  can  use  himr  right  now/'  said  Collins,  nervously  smooth- 
ing back  a  strand  of  his  pale  hair.  "Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr. 
Orde.  These  'jumpers'  .  .  .  and  that  confounded 
mixed  stuff  from  seventeen  .  .  .  "he  trailed  off,  his  eye 
glazing  in  the  abstraction  of  some  inner  calculation,  his  long, 
nervous  fingers  reaching  unconsciously  toward  the  soiled 
memoranda  left  by  Mason. 

"Well,  I'll  set  you  to  work/'  he  roused  himself,  when  he 
perceived  that  the  two  were  about  to  leave  him.  And  almost 
before  they  had  time  to  turn  away  he  was  busy  at  the  papers, 
his  pencil,  beautifully  pointed,  running  like  lightning  down 
the  long  columns,  pausing  at  certain  places  as  though  by 
instinct,  hovering  the  brief  instant  necessary  to  calcu- 
lation, then  racing  on  as  though  in  pursuit  of  something 
elusive. 

As  they  turned  away  a  slow,  cool  voice  addressed  then? 
from  behind  the  stove. 

"  Hullo,  bub!  "it  drawled. 

Fox's  face  lighted  and  he  extended  both  hands. 

"Well,  Tally!"  he  cried.  "You  old  snoozer!" 

The  man  was  upward  of  sixty  years  of  age,  but  straight 
and  active.  His  features  were  tanned  a  deep  mahogany,, 
and  carved  by  the  years  and  exposure  into  lines  of  capability 
and  good  humour.  In  contrast  to  this  brown  his  sweeping 
white  moustache  and  bushy  eyebrows,  blenched  flaxen  by 
the  sun,  showed  strongly.  His  little  blue  eyes  twinkled, 
and  fine  wrinkles  at  their  corners  helped  the  twinkles.  His 
long  figure  was  so  heavily  clothed  as  to  be  concealed  from  any 
surmise,  except  that  it  was  gaunt  and  wiry.  Hands  gnarled, 
twisted,  veined,  brown,  seemed  less  like  flesh  than  like  some 
skilful  Japanese  carving.  On  his  head  he  wore  a  visored 
cap  with  an  extraordinary  high  crown;  on  his  back  a  rather 
dingy  coat  cut  from  a  Mackinaw  blanket ;  on  his  legs  trousers 
that  had  been  "stagged"  off  just  below  the  knees,  heavy 
German  socks,  and  shoes  nailed  with  sharp  spikes  at  least 
three-quarters  of  an  inch  in  length. 


26  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Thought  you  were  up  in  the  woods!"  Fox  was 
exclaiming.  "  Where's  Fagan?" 

"He's  walkin'  white  water,"  replied  the  old  man. 

"Things  going  well?" 

"Damn  poor,"  admitted  Tally  frankly.  "That  is  to  say, 
the  Whitefish  branch  is  off.  There's  trouble  with  the  men. 
They're  a  mixed  lot.  Then  there's  old  Meadows.  He's 
assertin'  his  heaven-born  rights  some  more.  It's  all  right. 
We're  on  their  backs.  Other  branches  just  about  down." 

There  followed  a  rapid  exchange  of  which  Bob  could  make 
little  —  talk  of  flood  water,  of  "plugging"  and  "pulling,"  of 
"  winging  out,"  of  "  white  water."  It  made  no  sense,  and  yet 
somehow  it  thrilled  him,  as  at  times  the  mere  roll  of  Greek 
names  used  to  arouse  in  his  breast  vague  emotions  of 
grandeur  and  the  struggle  of  mighty  forces. 

Still  talking,  the  two  men  began  slowly  to  move  toward  the 
inner  office.  Suddenly  Fox  seemed  to  remember  his  com- 
panion's existence. 

"By  the  way,  Jim,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  know  one  of 
our  new  men,  young  Mr.  Orde.  You've  worked  for  his 
father.  This  is  Jim  Tally,  and  he's  one  of  the  best  rivermen, 
the  best  woodsman,  the  best  boss  of  men  old  Michigan  ever 
turned  out.  He  walked  logs  before  I  was  born." 

"  Glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Orde,"  said  Tally,  quite  unmoved. 


THE  two  left  Bob  to  his  own  devices.  The  old  riverman 
and  the  astonishingly  thawed  and  rejuvenated  Mr. 
Fox  disappeared  in  the  private  office.  Bob  proffered 
a  question  to  the  busy  Collins,  discovered  himself  free  until 
afternoon,  and  so  went  out  through  the  office  and  into  the 
clear  open  air. 

He  headed  at  once  across  the  wide  sawdust  area  toward 
the  mill  and  the  lake.  A  great  curiosity,  a  great  interest 
filled  him.  After  a  moment  he  found  himself  walking 
between  tall,  leaning  stacks  of  lumber,  piled  crosswise  in 
such  a  manner  that  the  sweet  currents  of  air  eddied  through 
the  interstices  between  the  boards  and  in  the  narrow,  alley- 
like  spaces  between  the  square  and  separate  stacks.  A 
coolness  filled  these  streets,  a  coolness  born  of  the  shade  in 
which  they  were  cast,  the  freshness  of  still  unmelted  snow 
lying  in  patches,  the  quality  of  pine  with  its  faint  aromatic 
pitch  smell  and  its  suggestion  of  the  forest.  Bob  wandered 
on  slowly,  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  For  the  time  being 
his  more  active  interest  was  in  abeyance,  lulled  by  the  sub- 
tle, elusive  phantom  of  grandeur  suggested  in  the  aloof- 
ness of  this  narrow  street  fronted  by  its  square,  skeleton, 
windowless  houses  through  which  the  wind  rattled.  After 
a  little  he  glimpsed  blue  through  the  alleys  between.  Then 
a  side  street  offered,  full  of  sun.  He  turned  down  it  a  few 
feet,  and  found  himself  standing  over  an  inlet  of  the  lake. 

Then  for  the  first  time  he  realized  that  he  had  been  walk- 
ing on  "made  ground."  The  water  chugged  restlessly 
against  the  uneven  ends  of  the  lath-like  slabs,  thousands 
of  them  laid,  side  by  side,  down  to  and  below  the  water's 

27 


28  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

surface.  They  formed  a  substructure  on  which  the  saw- 
dust had  been  heaped.  Deep  shadows  darted  from  their 
shelter  and  withdrew,  following  the  play  of  the  little  waves. 
The  lower  slabs  were  black  with  the  wet,  and  from  them,  too, 
crept  a  spicy  odour  set  free  by  the  moisture.  On  a  pile  head 
sat  an  urchin  fishing,  with  a  long  bamboo  pole  many  sizes 
too  large  for  him.  As  Bob  watched,  he  jerked  forth 
diminutive  flat  sunfish. 

"Good  work!"  called  Bob  in  congratulation. 

The  urchin  looked  up  at  the  large,  good-humoured  man 
and  grinned. 

Bob  retraced  his  steps  to  the  street  on  which  he  had 
started  out.  There  he  discovered  a  steep  stairway,  and  by 
it  mounted  to  the  tramway  above.  Along  this  he  wandered 
for  what  seemed  to  him  an  interminable  distance,  lost  as 
in  a  maze  among  the  streets  and  byways  of  this  tenantless 
city.  Once  he  stepped  aside  to  give  passage  to  the  great 
horse,  or  one  like  him,  and  his  train  of  little  cars.  The 
man  driving  nodded  to  him.  Again  he  happened  on  two 
men  unloading  similar  cars,  and  passing  the  boards  down 
to  other  men  below,  who  piled  them  skilfully,  two  end 
planks  one  way,  and  then  the  next  tier  the  other,  in  regular 
alternation.  They  wore  thick  leather  aprons,  and  square 
leather  pieces  strapped  across  the  insides  of  their  hands  as 
a  protection  against  splinters.  These,  like  all  other  especial 
accoutrements,  seemed  to  Bob  somehow  romantic,  to  be 
desired,  infinitely  picturesque.  He  passed  on  with  the  clear, 
yellow-white  of  the  pine  boards  lingering  back  of  his  retina. 

But  now  suddenly  his  sauntering  brought  him  to  the 
water  front.  The  tramway  ended  in  a  long  platform  run- 
ning parallel  to  the  edge  of  the  docks  below.  There  were 
many  little  cars,  both  in  the  process  of  unloading  and  await- 
ing their  turn.  The  place  swarmed  with  men,  all  busily 
engaged  in  handing  the  boards  from  one  to  another  as 
buckets  are  passed  at  a  fire.  At  each  point  where  an  unend- 
ing stream  of  them  passed  over  the  side  of  each  ship,  stood 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  29 

a  young  man  with  a  long,  flexible  rule.  This  he  laid  rap- 
idly along  the  width  of  each  board,  and  then  as  rapidly 
entered  a  mark  in  a  note-book.  The  boards  seemed  to 
move  fairly  of  their  own  volition,  like  a  scutcllate  monster 
of  many  joints,  crawling  from  the  cars,  across  the  dock, 
over  the  side  of  the  ship  and  into  the  black  hold  where  pre- 
sumably it  coiled.  There  were  six  ships;  six,  many-jointed 
monsters  creeping  to  their  appointed  places  under  the  urg- 
ing of  these  their  masters;  six  young  men  absorbed  and  busy 
at  the  tallying;  six  crews  panoplied  in  leather  guiding  the 
monsters  to  their  lairs.  Here,  too,  the  sun- warmed  air  arose 
sluggish  with  the  aroma  of  pitch,  of  lumber,  of  tar  from  the 
ships'  cordage,  of  the  wetness  of  unpainted  wood.  Aloft 
in  the  rigging,  clear  against  the  sky,  were  sailors  in  con- 
trast of  peaceful,  leisurely  industry  to  those  who  toiled  and 
hurried  below.  The  masts  swayed  gently,  describing  an 
arc  against  the  heavens.  The  sailors  swung  easily  to  the 
motion.  From  below  came  the  quick  dull  sounds  of  planks 
thrown  down,  the  grind  of  ear  wheels,  the  movement  of 
feet,  the  varied,  complex  sound  of  men  working  together, 
the  clapping  of  waters  against  the  structure.  It  was  con- 
fusing, confusing  as  the  noise  of  many  hammers.  Yet 
two  things  seemed  to  steady  it,  to  confine  it,  keep  it  in  the 
bounds  of  order,  to  prevent  it  from  usurping  more  than  its 
meet  and  proper  proportion.  One  was  the  tingling  lake 
breeze  singing  through  the  rigging  of  the  ship;  the  other 
was  the  idle  and  intermittent  whistling  of  one  of  the  sailors 
aloft.  And  suddenly,  as  though  it  had  but  just  commenced, 
Bob  again  became  aware  of  the  saw  shrieking  in  ecstasy  as 
it  plunged  into  a  pine  log. 

The  sound  came  from  the  left,  where  at  once  he  per- 
ceived the  tall  stacks  showing  above  the  lumber  piles,  and 
the  plume  of  white  steam  glittering  in  the  sun.  In  a  moment 
the  steam  fell,  and  the  shriek  of  the  saw  fell  with  it.  He 
turned  to  follow  the  tramway,  and  in  so  doing  almost 
bumped  into  Mason,  the  mill  foreman. 


30  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

" They're  hustling  it  in,"  said  the  latter.  "That's  right. 
Can't  give  me  yard  room  any  too  soon.  The  drive'll  be 
down  next  month.  Plenty  doing  then.  Damn  those  Dutch- 
men!" 

He  spoke  abstractedly,  as  though  voicing  his  inner  thoughts 
to  himself,  unconscious  of  his  companion.  Then  he  roused 
himself. 

"  Going  to  the  mill  ?  "  he  asked.     "  Come  on." 

They  walked  along  the  high,  narrow  platform  overlook- 
ing the  water  front  and  the  lading  of  the  ships.  Soon  the 
trestles  widened,  the  tracks  diverging  like  the  fingers  of  a 
hand  on  the  broad  front  to  the  second  story  of  the  mill. 
Mason  said  something  about  seeing  the  whole  of  it,  and  led 
the  way  along  a  narrow,  railed  outside  passage  to  the  other 
end  of  the  structure. 

There  Bob's  attention  was  at  once  caught  by  a  great 
water  enclosure  of  logs,  lying  still  and  sluggish  in  the  man- 
ner of  beasts  resting.  Rank  after  rank,  tier  after  tier,  in 
strange  patterns  they  lay,  brown  and  round,  with  the  little 
strips  of  blue  water  showing  between  like  a  fantastic  pat- 
tern. While  Bob  looked,  a  man  ran  out  over  them.  He 
was  dressed  in  short  trousers,  heavy  socks,  and  spiked  boots, 
and  a  faded  blue  shirt.  The  young  man  watched  with 
interest,  old  memories  of  his  early  boyhood  thronging  back 
on  him,  before  his  people  had  moved  from  Monrovia  and 
the  "booms."  The  man  ran  erratically,  but  with  an  acu- 
rate  purpose.  Behind  him  the  big  logs  bent  in  dignified 
reminiscence  of  his  tread,  and  slowly  rolled  over;  the  little 
logs  bobbed  frantically  in  a  turmoil  of  white  water,  disap- 
pearing and  reappearing  again  and  again,  sleek  and  wet  as 
seals.  To  these  the  man  paid  no  attention,  but  leaped 
easily  on,  pausing  on  the  timbers  heavy  enough  to  support 
him,  barely  spurning  those  too  small  to  sustain  his  weight. 
In  a  moment  he  stopped  abruptly  without  the  transitorial 
balancing  Bob  would  have  believed  necessary,  and  went 
calmly  to  pushing  mightily  with  a  long  pike-pole.  The  log 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  31 

on  which  he  stood  rolled  under  the  pressure;  the  man  quite 
mechanically  kept  pace  with  its  rolling,  treading  it  in  cor- 
respondence now  one  way,  now  the  other.  In  a  few 
moments  thus  he  had  forced  the  mass  of  logs  before  him 
toward  an  inclined  plane  leading  to  the  second  story  of 
the  mill. 

Up  this  ran  an  endless  chain  armed  with  teeth.  The 
man  pushed  one  of  the  logs  against  the  chain;  the  teeth 
bit;  at  once,  shaking  itself  free  of  the  water,  without  appar- 
ent effort,  without  haste,  calmly  and  leisurely  as  befitted 
the  dignity  of  its  bulk,  the  great  timber  arose.  The  water 
dripped  from  it,  the  surface  streamed,  a  cheerful  patter, 
patter  of  the  falling  drops  made  itself  heard  beneath  the 
mill  noises.  In  a  moment  the  log  disappeared  beneath 
projecting  eaves.  Another  was  just  behind  it,  and  behind 
that  yet  another,  and  another,  like  great  patient  beasts 
rising  from  the  coolness  of  a  stream  to  follow  a  leader  through 
the  narrowness  of  pasture  bars.  And  in  the  booms,  up  the 
river,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  were  other  logs  awaiting 
their  turn.  And  beyond  them  the  forest  trees,  straight 
and  tall  and  green,  dreaming  of  the  time  when  they  should 
follow  their  brothers  to  the  ships  and  go  out  into  the  world. 

Mason  was  looking  up  the  river. 

"I've  seen  the  time  when  she  was  piled  thirty  feet  high 
there,  and  the  freshet  behind  her.  That  was  ten  year 
back." 

"What?"  asked  Bob. 

"A  jam!"  explained  Mason. 

He  ducked  his  head  below  his  shoulders  and  disappeared 
beneath  the  eaves  of  the  mill.  Bob  followed. 

First  it  was  dusky;  then  he  saw  the  strip  of  bright  yellow 
sunlight  and  the  blue  bay  in  the  opening  below  the  eaves; 
then  he  caught  the  glitter  and  whirr  of  the  two  huge  saws, 
moving  silently  but  with  the  deadly  menace  of  great  speed 
on  their  axes.  Against  the  light  in  irregular  succession, 
alternately  blotting  and  clearing  the  foreground  at  the  end 


32  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

of  the  mill,  appeared  the  ends  of  the  logs  coming  up  the 
incline.  For  a  moment  they  poised  on  the  slant,  then  fell 
to  the  level,  and  glided  forward  to  a  broad  platform  where 
they  were  ravished  from  the  chain  and  rolled  into  line. 

Bob's  eyes  were  becoming  accustomed  to  the  gloom. 
He  made  out  pulleys,  belts,  machinery,  men.  While  he 
watched  a  black,  crooked  arm  shot  vigorously  up  from 
the  floor,  hurried  a  log  to  the  embrace  of  two  clamps,  rolled 
it  a  little  this  way,  a  little  that,  hovered  over  it  as  though 
in  doubt  as  to  whether  it  was  satisfactorily  placed,  then 
plunged  to  unknown  depths  as  swiftly  and  silently  as  it 
had  come.  So  abrupt  and  purposeful  were  its  movements, 
so  detached  did  it  seem  from  control,  that,  just  as  when  he 
was  a  youngster,  Bob  could  not  rid  his  mind  of  the  notion 
that  it  was  possessed  of  volition,  that  it  led  a  mysterious  life 
of  its  own  down  there  in  the  shadows,  that  it  was  in  the 
nature  of  an  intelligent  and  agile  beast  trained  to  apply  its 
powers  independently. 

Bob  remembered  it  as  the  "nigger,57  and  looked  about 
for  the  man  standing  by  a  lever. 

A  momentary  delay  seemed  to  have  occurred,  owing  to 
some  obscure  difficulty.  The  man  at  the  lever  straightened 
his  back.  Suddenly  all  that  part  of  the  floor  seemed  to 
start  forward  with  extraordinary  swiftness.  The  log  rushed 
down  on  the  circular  saw.  Instantly  the  wild,  exultant 
shriek  arose.  The  car  went  on,  burying  the  saw,  all  but 
the  very  top,  from  which  a  stream  of  sawdust  flew  up  and 
back.  A  long,  clean  slab  fell  to  a  succession  of  revolving 
rollers  which  carried  it,  passing  it  from  one  to  the  other, 
far  into  the  body  of  the  mill.  The  car  shot  back  to  its  origi- 
nal position  in  front  of  the  saw.  The  saw  hummed  an 
undersong  of  strong  vibration.  Again  it  ploughed  its  way 
the  length  of  the  timber.  This  time  a  plank  with  bark 
edges  dropped  on  the  rollers.  And  when  the  car  had  flown 
back  to  its  starting  point  the  "  nigger  "  rose  from  obscurity 
to  turn  the  log  half  way  around. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  33 

They  picked  their  way  gingerly  on.  Bob  looked  back. 
Against  the  light  the  two  graceful,  erect  figures,  immobile, 
but  carried  back  and  forth  over  thirty  feet  with  lightning 
rapidity;  the  brute  masses  of  the  logs;  the  swift  decisive 
forays  of  the  "nigger,"  the  unobtrusive  figures  of  the  other 
men  handling  the  logs  far  in  the  background;  and  the 
bright,  smooth,  glittering,  dangerous  saws,  clear-cut  in 
outline  by  their  very  speed,  humming  in  anticipation,  or 
shrieking  like  demons  as  they  bit  —  these  seemed  to  him 
to  swell  in  the  dim  light  to  the  proportions  of  something 
gigantic,  primeval  —  to  become  forces  beyond  the  experi- 
ence of  to-day,  typical  of  the  tremendous  power  that  must 
be  invoked  to  subdue  the  equally  tremendous  power  of  the 
wilderness. 

He  and  Mason  together  examined  the  industriously 
working  gang-saws,  long  steel  blades  with  the  up-and-down 
motion  of  cutting  cord-wood.  They  passed  the  small 
trimming  sawsy  where  men  push  the  boards  between  little 
round  saws  to  trim  their  edges.  Bob  noticed  how  the  sawdust 
was  carried  away  automatically,  and  where  the  waste  slabs 
went.  They  turned  through  a  small  side  room,  strangely 
silent  by  contrast  to  the  rest,  where  the  filer  did  his  minute 
work.  He  was  an  old  man,  the  filer,  with  steel-rimmed, 
round  spectacles,  and  he  held  Bob  some  time  explaining 
how  important  his  position  was. 

They  emerged  filially  to  the  broad,  open  platform  with 
the  radiating  tram-car  tracks.  Here  Bob  saw  the  finished 
boards  trundled  out  on  the  moving  rollers  to  be  transferred 
to  the  cars. 

Mason  left  him.  He  made  his  way  slowly  back  toward 
the  office,  noticing  on  the  way  the  curious  pairs  of  huge 
wheels  beneath  which  were  slung  the  heavy  timbers  or  piles 
of  boards  for  transportation  at  the  level  of  the  ground. 

At  the  edge  of  the  lumber  piles  Bob  looked  back.  The 
noises  or  industry  were  in  his  ears;  the  blur  of  industry 
before  his  eyes;  the  clean,  sweet  smell  of  pine  in  his  nostrils. 


$4  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

He  saw  clearly  the  row  of  ships  and  the  many-jointed  serpent 
of  boards  making  its  way  to  the  hold,  the  sailors  swinging 
aloft;  the  miles  of  ruminating  brown  logs,  and  the  alert 
little  man  zigzagging  across  them;  the  shadow  of  the  mill 
darkening  the  water,  and  the  brown  leviathan  timbers  rising 
dripping  in  regular  succession  from  them;  the  whirr  of  the 
deadly  circular  saws,  and  the  calm,  erect  men  dominating 
the  cars  that  darted  back  and  forth;  and  finally  the  spark- 
ling white  steam  spraying  suddenly  against  the  intense  blue 
of  the  sky.  Here  was  activity,  business,  industry,  the  clash 
of  forces.  He  admired  the  quick,  compact  alertness  of 
Johnny  Mason;  he  joyed  in  the  absorbed,  interested  acti- 
vity of  the  brown  young  men  with  the  sealer's  rules;  he 
envied  a  trifle  the  muscle-stretching,  physical  labour  of  the 
men  with  the  leather  aprons  and  hand-guards,  piling  the 
lumber.  It  was  good  to  draw  in  deep  breaths  of  this  air, 
to  smell  deeply  of  he  aromatic  odours  of  the  north. 

Suddenly  the  mill  whistle  began  to  blow.  Beneath  the 
noise  he  could  hear  the  machinery  beginning  to  run  down. 
From  all  directions  men  came.  They  converged  in  the 
central  alley,  hundreds  of  them.  In  a  moment  Bob  was 
caught  up  in  their  stream,  and  borne  with  them  toward 
the  weather-stained  shanty  town. 


VI 

BOB  followed  this  streaming  multitude  to  the  large 
structure  that  had  earlier  been  pointed  out  to  him  as 
the  boarding  house.  It  was  a  commodious  affair 
with  a  narrow  verandah  to  which  led  steps  picked  out  by  the 
sharp  caulks  of  the  rivermen's  boots.  A  round  stove  held 
the  place  of  honour  in  the  first  room.  Benches  flanked  the 
walls.  At  one  end  was  a  table-sink,  and  tin  wa^sh-basins, 
and  roller  towels.  The  men  were  splashing  and  blowing 
in  the  plunge-in-all-over  fashion  of  their  class.  They 
emerged  slicked  down  and  fresh,  their  hair  plastered  wet 
to  their  foreheads.  After  a  moment  a  fat  and  motherly 
woman  made  an  announcement  from  a  rear  room.  All 
trooped  out. 

The  dining  room  was  precisely  like  those  Bob  remembered 
from  recollections  of  the  river  camps  of  his  childhood.  There 
were  the  same  long  tables  covered  with  red  oilcloth,  the 
same  pine  benches  worn  smooth  and  shiny,  the  same  thick 
crockery,  and  the  same  huge  receptacles  steaming  with 
hearty  —  and  well-cooked  —  food.  Nowhere  does  the  man 
who  labours  with  his  hands  fare  better  than  in  the  average 
lumber  camp.  Forest  operations  have  a  largeness  in  con- 
ception and  execution  that  leads  away  from  the  habit  of 
the  mean,  small  and  foolish  economics.  At  one  side,  and 
near  the  windows,  stood  a  smaller  table.  The  covering  of 
this  was  turkey-red  cloth  v/ith  white  pattern;  it  boasted 
a  white-metal  "caster";  and  possessed  real  chairs.  Here 
Bob  took  his  seat,  in  company  with  Fox,  Collins,  Mason, 
Tally  and  the  half-doz^n  active  young  fellows  he  had  seen 
handling  the  scaling  rules  near  the  ships. 

35 


36  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

At  the  men's  tables  the  meal  was  consumed  in  a  silence 
which  Bob  learned  later  came  nearer  being  obligatory  than 
a  matter  of  choice.  Conversation  was  discouraged  by  the 
good-natured  fat  woman,  Mrs.  Hallowell.  Talk  delayed; 
and  when  one  had  dishes  to  wash  — 

The  "  boss's  table"  was  more  leisurely.  Bob  was  intro- 
duced to  the  sealers.  They  proved  to  be,  with  one  excep- 
tion, young  fellows  of  twenty-one  or  two,  keen-eyed,  brown- 
faced,  alert  and  active.  They  impressed  Bob  as  belonging 
to  the  clerk  class,  with  something  added  by  the  outdoor, 
varied  life.  Indeed,  later  he  discovered  them  to  be  sons  of 
carpenters,  mechanics  and  other  higher-class,  intelligent 
workingmen;  boys  who  had  gone  through  high  school, 
and  perhaps  a  little  way  into  the  business  college;  ambi- 
tious youngsters,  each  with  a  different  idea  in  the  back  of 
his  head.  They  had  in  common  an  air  of  capability,  of 
complete  adequacy  for  the  task  in  life  they  had  selected. 
The  sixth  sealer  was  much  older  and  of  the  riverman  type. 
He  had  evidently  come  up  from  the  ranks. 

There  was  no  general  conversation.  Talk  confined 
itself  strictly  to  shop.  Bob,  his  imagination  already  stirred 
by  the  incidents  of  his  stroll,  listened  eagerly.  Fox  was 
getting  in  touch  with  the  whole  situation. 

"The  main  drive  is  down,"  Tally  told  him,  "but  the 
Cedar  Branch  hasn't  got  to  the  river  yet.  What  in  blazes 
did  you  want  to  buy  that  little  strip  this  late  in  the  day  for  ?  " 

"Had  to  take  it  — on  a  deal,"  said  Fox  briefly.  "Why? 
Is  it  hard  driving?  I've  never  been  up  there.  Welton 
saw  to  all  that" 

"It's  hell.  The  pine's  way  up  at  the  headwaters.  You 
have  to  drive  her  the  whole  length  of  the  stream,  through 
a  mixed  hardwood  and  farm  country.  Lots  of  patridges 
and  mossbacks,  but  no  improvements.  Not  a  dam  the  whole 
length  of  her.  Case  of  hit  the  freshet  water  or  get  hung." 

"Well,  we've  done  that  kind  of  a  job  before." 

"Yes,  before!"  Tally  retorted.     "If  I  had  a  half -crew  of 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  37 

good,  oH-fashioned  white- water  birlers,  I'd  rest  easy.  But 
we  don't  have  no  crews  like  we  used  to.  The  old  bully 
boys  have  all  moved  out  west  —  or  died." 

"Getting  old  —  like  us,"  bantered  Fox.  "Why  haven't 
you  died  off  too,  Jim?" 

"I'm  never  going  to  die,"  stated  the  old  man,  "I'm  going 
to  live  to  turn  into  a  grindstone  and  wear  out.  But  it's  a 
fact.  There's  plenty  left  can  ride  a  log  all  right,  but  they'i  » 
a  tough  lot.  It's  too  close  here  to  Marion." 

"That  is  too  bad, "  condoled  Fox,  "especially  as  I  remem- 
ber so  well  what  a  soft-spoken,  lamb-like  little  tin  angel 
you  used  to  be,  Jim." 

Fox,  who  had  quite  dropped  his  old  office  self,  winked  at 
Bob.  The  latter  felt  encouraged  to  say: 

"  I  had  a  course  in  college  on  archaeology.  Don't  remem- 
ber much  about  it,  but  one  thing.  When  they  managed  to 
decipher  the  oldest  known  piece  of  hieroglyphics  on  an 
Assyrian  brick,  what  do  you  suppose  it  turned  out  to  be?" 

"Give  it  up,  Brudder  Bones,"  said  Tally,  dryly,  "what 
was  it?" 

Bob  flushed  at  the  old  rivennan's  tone,  but  went  on. 

"It  was  a  letter  from  a  man  to  his  son  away  at  school. 
In  it  he  lamented  the  good  old  times  when  he  was  young, 
and  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  the  world  was  going  to  the 
dogs." 

Tally  grinned  slowly;  and  the  others  burst  into  a  shout 
of  laughter. 

"All  right,  bub,"  said  the  riverman  good-humouredly. 
"But  that  doesn't  get  me  a  new  foreman."  He  turned  to 
Fox.  "Smith  broke  his  leg;  and  I  can't  find  a  man  to  take 
charge.  I  can't  go.  The  main  drive's  got  to  be  sorted." 

"There  ought  to  be  plenty  of  good  men,"  said  Fox. 

"There  are,  but  they're  at  work." 

"Dicky  Darrell  is  over  at  Marion,"  spoke  up  one  of  the 
sealers. 

"Roaring  Dick,"  said  Tally  sarcastically,  "—  but  there's 


38  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

no  denying  he's  a  good  man  in  the  woods.  But  if  he's  at 
Marion,  he's  drunk;  and  if  he's  drunk,  you  can't  do  noth- 
ing with  him." 

"I  heard  it  three  days  ago,"   said  the  sealer. 

Tally  ruminated.  "Well,"  he  concluded,  " maybe  he's 
about  over  with  his  bust.  I'll  run  over  this  afternoon  and 
see  what  I  can  do  with  him.  If  Tom  Welton  would  only 
tear  himself  apart  from  California,  we'd  get  on  all  right." 

A  scraping  back  of  benches  and  a  tramp  of  feet  announced 
the  nearly  simultaneous  finishing  of  feeding  at  the  men's 
tables.  At  the  boss's  table  everyone  seized  an  unabashed 
toothpick.  Collins  addressed  Bob. 

"Mr.  Fox  and  I  have  so  much  to  go  over  this  afternoon," 
said  he,  "that  I  don't  believe  I'll  have  time  to  show  you. 
Just  look  around  a  little." 

On  the  porch  outside  Bob  paused.  After  a  moment  he 
became  aware  of  a  figure  at  his  elbow.  He  turned  to  see 
old  Jim  Tally  bent  over  to  light  his  pipe  behind  the  mahog- 
any of  his  curved  hard. 

"Want  to  take  in  Marion,  bub?"  he  enquired. 

"Sure!"  cried  Bob  heartily,  surprised  at  this  mark  of 
favour. 

"Come  on  then,"  said  the  old  riverman,  "the  lightning 
express  is  gettin'  anxious  for  us." 


VII 

THEY  tramped  to  the  station  and  boarded  the  single 
passenger  car  of  the  accommodation.  There  they 
selected  a  forward  seat  and  waited  patiently  for  the 
freight-handling  to  finish  and  for  the  leisurely  puffing  little 
engine  to  move  on.  An  hour  later  they  descended  at  Marion. 
The  journey  had  been  made  in  an  almost  absolute  silence. 
Tally  stared  straight  ahead,  and  sucked  at  his  little  pipe. 
To  him,  apparently,  the  journey  was  merely  something  to 
be  endured;  and  he  relapsed  into  that  patient  absent-mind- 
edness developed  among  those  who  have  to  wait  on  forces 
that  will  not  be  hurried.  Bob's  remarks  he  answered  in 
monosyllables.  When  the  train  pulled  into  the  station, 
Tally  immediately  arose,  as  though  released  by  a  spring. 

Bob's  impressions  of  Marion  were  of  great  mills  and  saw- 
dust-burners along  a  wide  river;  of  broad,  sawdust-covered 
streets;  of  a  single  block  of  good,  brick  stores  on  a  main 
thoroughfare  which  almost  immediately  petered  out  into  the 
vilest  and  most  ramshackle  frame  "joints";  of  wide  side 
streets  flanked  by  small,  painted  houses  in  yards,  some  very 
neat  indeed.  Tally  walked  rapidly  by  the  respectable  busi- 
ness blocks,  but  pushed  into  the  first  of  the  unkempt  frame 
saloons  beyond.  Bob  followed  close  at  his  heels.  He 
found  himself  in  a  cheap  bar-room,  its  paint  and  varnish 
scarred  and  marred,  its  floor  sawdust-covered,  its  centre 
occupied  by  a  huge  stove,  its  walls  decorated  by  several 
pictures  of  the  nude. 

Four  men  were  playing  cards  at  an  old  round  table,  hacked 
and  bruised  and  blackened  by  time.  One  of  them  was  the 
barkeeper,  a  burly  individual  with  black  hair  plastered  in 

39 


40  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

a  "lick"  across  his  forehead.  He  pushed  back  his  chair 
and  ducked  behind  the  bar,  whence  he  greeted  the  new- 
comers. Tally  proffered  a  question.  The  barkeeper 
relaxed  from  his  professional  attitude,  and  leaned  both 
elbows  on  the  bar.  The  two  conversed  for  a  moment;  then 
Tally  nodded  briefly  and  went  out.  Bob  followed. 

This  performance  was  repeated  down  the  length  of  the 
street.  The  stage-settings  varied  little;  same  oblong, 
painted  rooms;  same  varnished  bars  down  one  side;  same 
mirrors  and  bottles  behind  them;  same  sawdust-strewn 
floors;  same  pictures  on  the  walls;  same  obscure,  back 
rooms;  same  sleepy  card  games  by  the  same  burly  but  sod- 
den type  of  men.  This  was  the  off  season.  Profits  were  now 
as  slight  as  later  they  would  be  heavy.  Tim  talked  with 
the  barkeepers  low-voiced,  nodded  and  went  out.  Only 
when  he  had  systematically  worked  both  sides  of  the  street 
did  he  say  anything  to  his  companion. 

"He's  in  town,"  said  Tally;  "but  they  don't  know  where," 

"Whither  away?"  asked  Bob. 

"Across  the  river." 

They  walked  together  down  a  side  street  to  a  long  wooden 
bridge.  This  rested  on  wooden  piers  shaped  upstream  like 
the  prow  of  a  ram  in  order  to  withstand  the  battering  of  the 
logs.  It  was  a  very  long  bridge.  Beneath  it  the  swift  current 
of  the  river  slipped  smoothly.  The  breadth  of  the  stream 
was  divided  into  many  channels  and  pockets  by  means  of 
brown  poles.  Some  of  these  were  partially  filled  with  logs. 
A  clear  channel  had  been  preserved  up  the  middle.  Men 
armed  with  long  pike-poles  were  moving  here  and  there  over 
the  booms  and  the  logs  themselves,  pushing,  pulling,  shoving 
a  big  log  into  this  pocket,  another  into  that,  gradually  segre- 
gating the  different  brands  belonging  to  the  different  owners 
of  the  mills  below.  From  the  quite  considerable  height  of  the 
bridge  all  this  lay  spread  out  mapwise  up  and  down  the 
perspective  of  the  stream.  The  smooth,  oily  current  of  the 
river,  leaden-hued  and  cold  in  the  light  of  the  early  spring, 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  41 

hurried  by  on  its  way  to  the  lake,  swiftly,  yet  without  the 
turmoil  and  fuss  of  lesser  power.  Downstream,  as  far  as 
Bob  could  see,  were  the  huge  mills  with  their  flanking  lum- 
ber yards,  the  masts  of  their  lading  ships,  their  black  sawdust- 
burners,  and  above  all  the  pure-white,  triumphant  banners 
of  steam  that  shot  straight  up  against  the  gray  of  the  sky. 

Tally  followed  the  direction  of  his  gaze. 

"Modern  work,"  he  commented.  "Rand  saws.  No  cir- 
culars there.  Two  hundred  thousand  a  day";  with  which 
cryptic  utterance  he  resumed  his  walk. 

The  opposite  side  of  the  river  proved  to  be  a  smaller  edi- 
tion of  the  other.  Into  the  first  saloon  Tally  pushed. 

It  resembled  the  others,  except  that  no  card  game  was  in 
progress.  The  barkeeper,  his  feet  elevated,  read  a  pink 
paper  behind  the  bar.  A  figure  slept  at  the  round  table,  its 
head  in  its  arms.  Tally  walked  over  to  shake  this  man  by 
the  shoulder. 

In  a  moment  the  sleeper  raised  his  head.  Bob  saw  a 
little,  middle-aged  man,  not  over  five  feet  six  in  height,  slen- 
derly built,  yet  with  broad,  hanging  shoulders.  His  head 
was  an  almost  exact  inverted  pyramid,  the  base  formed  by  a 
mop  of  red-brown  hair,  and  the  apex  represented  by  «i  very 
pointed  chin.  Two  level,  oblong  patches  of  hair  made 
eyebrows.  His  face  was  white  and  nervous.  A  strong, 
hooked  nose  separated  a  pair  of  red-brown  eyes,  small  and 
twinkling,  like  a  chipmunk's.  Just  now  they  were  blood- 
shot and  vague. 

"Hullo,  Dicky  Darrell,"  said  Tally. 

The  man  struggled  to  his  feet,  knocking  over  the  chair, 
and  laid  both  hands  effusively  on  Tally's  shoulders. 

"Jim!"  he  cried  thickly.  "Good  ole  Jim!  Glad  to  see 
you!  Rav1  drinki " 

Tally  nodded,  and,  to  Bob's  surprise,  took  his  place  at 
the  bar. 

"Hav'  Another!"  cried  Darrell.  "God!  I'm  glad  to  see 
you!  Nobody  in  town." 


42  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"All  right,"  agreed  Tally  pacifically;  "but  let's  go  across 
the  river  to  Dugan's  and  get  it." 

To  this  Darrell  readily  agreed.  They  left  the  saloon. 
Bob,  following,  noticed  the  peculiar  truculence  imparted  to 
DarrelFs  appearance  by  the  fact  that  in  walking  he  always 
held  his  hands  open  and  palms  to  the  front.  Suddenly  Dar- 
rell became  for  the  first  time  aware  of  his  presence.  The 
riverman  whirled  on  him,  and  Bob  became  conscious  of 
something  as  distinct  as  a  physical  shock  as  he  met  the 
impact  of  an  electrical  nervous  energy.  It  passed,  and  he 
found  himself  half  smiling  down  on  this  little,  white-faced 
man  with  the  matted  hair  and  the  bloodshot,  chipmunk  eyes. 

"Who'n  hell's  this!"  demanded  Darrell  savagely. 

"  Friend  of  mine,"  said  Tally.     "  Come  on." 

Darrell  stared  a  moment  longer.  "All  right,"  he  said  at 
last. 

All  the  way  across  the  bridge  Tally  argued  with  his  com- 
panion. 

"  We've  got  to  have  a  foreman  on  the  Cedar  Branch,  Dick," 
he  began,  "and  you're  the  fellow." 

To  this  Darrell  offered  a  profane,  emphatic  and  contemp- 
tuous negative.  With  consummate  diplomacy  Tally  led  his 
mind  from  sullen  obstinacy  to  mere  reluctance.  At  the  cor- 
ner of  Main  Street  the  three  stopped. 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  go  yet,  Jim,"  pleaded  Darrell,  almost 
tearfully.  "  I  ain't  had  all  my  '  time '  yet." 

"Well,"  said  Tally,  "you've  been  polishing  up  the  flames 
of  hell  for  four  days  pretty  steady.  What  more  do  you 
want?" 

"I  ain't  smashed  no  rig  yet,"  objected  Darrell. 

Tally  looked  puzzled. 

"Well,  go  ahead  and  smash  your  rig  and  get  done  with  it," 
he  said. 

"A'  right,"  said  Darrell  cheerfully. 

He  started  off  briskly,  the  others  following.  Down  a  side 
street  his  rather  uncertain  gait  led  them,  to  the  wide-open 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  43 

door  of  a  frame  livery  stable.  The  usual  loungers  in  the 
usual  tipped-back  chairs  greeted  him. 

"Want  m'  rig,"  he  demanded. 

A  large  and  leisurely  man  in  shirt  sleeves  lounged  out  from 
the  office  and  looked  him  over  dispassionately. 

"You've  been  drunk  four  days,"  said  he,  "have  you  the 
price?" 

"Bet  y3,"  said  Dick,  cheerfully.  He  seated  himself  on 
the  ground  and  pulled  off  his  boot  from  which  he  extracted 
a  pulpy  mass  of  greenbacks.  "Can't  fool  me!"  he  said 
cunningly.  "Always  save  'nuff  for  my  rig!" 

He  shoved  the  bills  into  the  liveryman's  hands.  The 
latter  straightened  them  out,  counted  them,  thrust  a  porx 
tion  into  his  pocket,  and  handed  the  rest  back  to  Darrell. 

"There  you  are,"  said  he.  He  shouted  an  order  into  tb* 
darkness  of  the  stable. 

An  interval  ensued.  The  stableman  and  Tally  waited 
imperturbably,  without  the  faintest  expression  of  interest 
in  anything  evident  on  their  immobile  countenances.  Dicky 
Darrell  rocked  back  and  forth  on  his  heels,  a  pleased  smile 
on  his  face. 

After  a  few  moments  the  stable  boy  led  out  a  horse  hitched 
to  the  most  ramshackle  and  patched-up  old  side-bar  buggy 
Bob  had  ever  beheld.  Darrell,  after  several  vain  attempts, 
managed  to  clamber  aboard.  He  gathered  up  the  reins,  and, 
with  exaggerated  care,  drove  into  the  middle  of  the  street. 

Then  suddenly  he  rose  to  his  feet,  uttered  an  ear-piercing 
exultant  yell,  hurled  the  reins  at  the  horse's  head  and  began 
to  beat  the  animal  with  his  whip.  The  horse,  startled, 
bounded  forward.  The  buggy  jerked.  Darrell  sat  down 
violently,  but  was  at  once  on  his  feet,  plying  the  whip.  The 
crazed  man  and  the  crazed  horse  disappeared  up  the  street, 
the  buggy  careening  from  side  to  side,  Darrell  yelling  at  the 
top  of  his  lungs.  The  stableman  watched  him  out  of 
sight. 

"Roaring  Dick  of  the  Woods!"  said  he  thoughtfully  at 


44  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

last.  He  thrust  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  took  out  the 
wad  of  greenbacks,  contemplated  them  for  a  moment,  and 
thrust  them  back.  He  caught  Tally's  eye.  "Funny  what 
different  ideas  men  have  of  a  time,"  said  he, 

"Do  this  regular ?"  inquired  Tally  dryly. 

"Every  year." 

Bob  got  his  breath  at  last. 

"Why!"  he  cried.  "What'll  happen  to  him!  He'll  be 
killed  sure!" 

"Not  him!"  stated  the  stableman  emphatically.  "Not 
Dicky  Darrell!  He'll  smash  up  good,  and  will  crawl  out  of 
the  wreck>  and  he'll  limp  back  here  in  just  about  one  half- 
hour." 

"How  about  the  horse  and  buggy?" 

"  Oh,  we'll  catch  the  horse  in  a  day  or  two  —  it's  a  spoiled 
colt,  anyway  —  and  we'll  patch  up  the  buggy  if  she's  patch- 
able.  If  not,  we'll  leave  it.  Usual  programme." 

The  stableman  and  Tally  lit  their  pipes.  Nobody  seemed 
much  interested  now  that  the  amusement  was  over.  Bob 
owned  a  boyish  desire  to  follow  the  wake  of  the  cyclone,  but 
in  the  presence  of  this  imperturbability,  he  repressed  his 
inclination. 

"Some  day  the  damn  fool  will  bust  his  head  open,"  said 
the  liveryman,  after  a  ruminative  pause. 

"I  shouldn't  think  you'd  rent  him  a  horse,"  said  Bob. 

"He  pays,"  yawned  the  other. 

At  the  end  of  the  half-hour  the  liveryman  dove  into  his 
office  for  a  coat,  which  he  put  on.  This  indicated  that  he 
contemplated  exercising  in  the  sun  instead  of  sitting  still  in 
the  shade. 

"Well,  let's  look  him  up,"  said  he.  "'This  may  be  the 
time  he  busts  his  fool  head." 

"Hope  not,"  was  Tally's  comment;  "can't  afford  ta  lose 
a  foreman." 

But  near  the  outskirts  of  town  they  met  Roaring  Dick 
limping  painfully  down  the  middle  of  the  road.  His  hat  was 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  45 

gone  and  he  was  liberally  plastered  with  the  soft  mud  of 
early  spring. 

Not  one  word  would  he  vouchsafe,  but  looked  at  them  all 
malevolently.  His  intoxication  seemed  to  have  evaporated 
with  his  good  spirits.  As  answer  to  the  liveryman's  ques- 
tion as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  smashed  rig,  he  waved  a 
comprehensive  hand  toward  the  suburbs.  At  insistence, 
he  snapped  back  like  an  ugly  dog. 

"Out  there  somewhere,"  he  snarled.  "Go  find  iti  What 
the  hell  do  I  care  where  it  is?  It's  mine,  isn't  it?  I  paid 
you  for  it,  didn'  1 1  ?  Well,  go  find  it !  You  can  have  it ! " 

He  tramped  vigorously  back  toward  the  main  street,  a 
grotesque  figure  with  his  red-brown  hair  tumbled  over  his 
white,  nervous  countenance  of  the  pointed  chin,  with  his 
hooked  nose,  and  his  twinkling  chipmunk  eyes. 

"He'll  hit  the  fust  saloon,  if  you  don't  watch  out,"  Bob 
managed  to  whisper  to  Tally. 

But  the  latter  shook  his  head.  From  long  experience  he 
knew  the  type. 

His  reasoning  was  correct.  Roaring  Dick  tramped  dog- 
gedly down  the  length  of  the  street  to  the  little  frame  depot. 
There  he  slumped  into  one  of  the  hard  seats  in  the  waiting- 
room,  where  he  promptly  slept.  Tally  sat  down  beside  him 
and  withdrew  into  himself.  The  twilight  fell.  After  an 
apparently  interminable  interval  a  train  rumbled  in..  Tally 
shook  his  companion.  The  latter  awakened  just  long  enough 
to  stumble  aboard  the  smoking  car,  where,  his  knees  propped 
up,  his  chin  on  his  breast,  he  relapsed  into  deep  slumber. 

They  arrived  at  the  boarding  house  late  in  the  evening. 
Mrs.  Hallowell  set  out  a  cold  supper,  to  which  Bob  was 
ready  to  do  full  justice.  Ten  minutes  later  he  found  him- 
self in  a  tiny  box  of  a  bedroom,  furnished  barely.  He 
pushed  open  the  window  and  propped  it  up  with  a  piece  of 
kindling.  The  earth  had  fallen  into  a  very  narrow  sil- 
houette, and  the  star-filled  heavens  usurped  all  space,  crowd- 
ing the  world  down.  Against  the  sky  the  outlines  stood  sig- 


46  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

nificant  in  what  they  suggested  and  concealed  —  slumbering 
roof-tops,  the  satiated  mill  glowing  vaguely  somewhere  from 
her  banked  fires,  the  blackness  and  mass  of  silent  lumber 
yards,  the  mysterious,  hushing  fingers  of  the  ships'  masts, 
and  then  low  and  vague,  like  a  narrow  strip  of  velvet  divid- 
ing these  men's  affairs  from  the  star-strewn  infinite,  the 
wilderness.  As  Bob  leaned  from  the  window  the  bigness 
of  these  things  rushed  into  his  office-starved  spirit  as  air  into 
a  vacuum.  The  cold  of  the  lake  breeze  entered  his  lungs. 
He  drew  a  deep  breath  of  it.  For  the  first  time  in  his  short 
business  experience  he  looked  forward  eagerly  to  the  morrow. 


VIII 

BOB  was  awakened  before  daylight  by  the  unholy  shriek 
of  a  great  whistle.  He  then  realized  that  for  some 
time  he  had  been  vaguely  aware  of  kindling  and  stove 
sounds.  The  bare  little  room  had  become  bitterly  cold.  A 
gray-blackness  represented  the  world  outside.  He  lighted 
his  glass  lamp  and  took  a  hasty,  shivering  sponge  bath  in  the 
crockery  basin.  Then  he  felt  better  in  the  answering  glow 
of  his  healthy,  straight  young  body;  and  a  few  moments 
later  was  prepared  to  enjoy  a  fragrant,  new-lit,  somewhat 
smoky  fire  in  the  big  stove  outside  his  door.  The  bell  rang. 
Men  knocked  ashes  from  their  pipes  and  arose;  other  men 
stamped  in  from  outside.  The  dining  room  was  filled. 

Bob  took  his  seat,  nodding  to  the  men.  A  slightly  grumpy 
silence  reigned.  Collins  and  Fox  had  not  yet  appeared. 
Bob  saw  Roaring  Dick  at  the  other  table,  rather  whiter  than 
the  day  before,  but  carrying  himself  boldly  in  spite  of  his 
poor  head.  As  he  looked,  Roaring  Dick  caught  his  eye. 
The  riverman  evidently  did  not  recognize  having  seen  the 
young  stranger  the  day  before;  but  Bob  was  again  con- 
scious of  the  quick  impact  of  the  man's  personality,  quite 
out  of  proportion  to  his  diminutive  height  and  siender  build. 
At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  the  men  trooped  out  noisily.  Shortly 
a  second  whistle  blew.  At  the  signal  the  mill  awoke.  The 
clang  of  machinery,  beginning  slowly,  increased  in  tempo. 
The  exultant  shriek  of  the  saws  rose  to  heaven.  Bob,  peer- 
ing forth  into  the  young  daylight,  caught  the  silhouette  of  the 
elephantine  tram  horse,  high  in  the  air,  bending  his  great 
shoulders  to  the  starting  of  his  little  train  of  cars. 

Not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  Bob  sauntered  to  the  office. 

47 


48  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

It  was  locked  and  dark.  He  returned  to  the  boarding  house, 
and  sat  down  in  the  main  room.  The  lamps  became  dimmer. 
Finally  the  chore  boy  put  them  out.  Then  at  last  Collins 
appeared,  followed  closely  by  Fox. 

"  You  didn't  get  up  to  eat  with  the  men?"  the  bookkeeper 
asked  Bob  a  trifle  curiously.  "You  don't  need  to  do  that. 
We  eat  with  Mrs.  Hallowell  at  seven." 

At  eight  o'clock  the  little  bookkeeper  opened  the  office 
door  and  ushered  Bob  in  to  the  scene  of  his  duties. 

"You're  to  help  me,"  said  Collins  concisely.  "I  have 
the  books.  Our  other  duties  are  to  make  out  time  checks 
for  the  men,  to  answer  the  correspondence  in  our  province,  to 
keep  track  of  carnp  supplies,  and  to  keep  tab  on  shipments 
and  the  stock  on  hand  and  sawed  each  day.  There's  your 
desk.  You'll  find  time  blanks  and  everything  there.  The 
copying  press  is  in  the  corner.  Over  here  is  the  tally  board," 
He  led  the  way  to  a  pine  bulletin,  perhaps  four  feet  square, 
into  which  were  screwed  a  hundred  or  more  small  brass 
screw  hooks.  From  each  depended  a  small  pine  tablet  or 
tag  inscribed  with  many  figures.  "Do  you  understand  a 
tally  board?"  Collms  asked. 

"No,"  replied  Bob. 

"Well,  these  screw  hooks  are  arranged  just  like  a  map  of 
the  lumber  yards.  Each  hook  represents  one  of  the  lumber 
piles  —  or  rather  the  location  of  a  lumber  pile.  The  tags 
hanging  from  them  represent  the  lumber  piles  themselves; 
see?" 

"Sure,"  said  Bob.  Now  that  he  understood  he  could 
follow  out  on  this  strange  map  the  blocks,  streets  and  alleys 
of  that  silent,  tenantless  city. 

"On  these  tags,"  pursued  Collins,  "are  figures.  These 
figures  show  how  much  lumber  is  in  each  pile,  and  what 
kind  it  is,  and  of  what  quality.  In  that  way  we  know  just 
what  we  have  and  where  it  is.  The  sealers  report  to  us  every 
day  just  what  has  been  shipped  out,  and  what  has  been 
piled  from  the  mill.  From  their  reports  we  change  the 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  49 

figures  on  the  tags.  Fm  going  to  let  you  take  care  of 
that." 

Bob  bestowed  his  losag  figure  at  the  desk  assigned  him, 
and  went  to  work.  He  was  interested,  for  it  was  all  new  to 
him.  Men  were  constantly  in  and  out  on  all  sorts  of  errands. 
Fox  came  to  shake  hands  and  wish  him  well;  he  was  off  on 
the  ten  o'clock  train.  Bob  checked  over  a  long  invoice  of 
camp  supplies;  manipulated  the  copying  press;  and,  under 
Collins's  instructions,  made  out  time  checks  against  the  next 
pay  day.  The  insistence  of  details  kept  him  at  the  stretch 
until  noon  surprised  him. 

After  dinner  and  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  he  plunged  again 
into  his  tasks.  Now  he  had  the  sealers'  noon  reports  to 
transfer  to  the  tally  board.  He  was  intensely  interested  by 
the  novelty  of  it  all;  but  even  this  early  he  encountered  his 
old  difficulties  in  the  matter  of  figures.  He  made  no  mistakes, 
but  in  order  to  correlate,  remember  and  transfer  correctly 
he  was  forced  to  an  utterly  disproportionate  intensity  of 
application.  To  the  tally  board  he  brought  more  absolute 
concentration  and  will-power  than  did  Collins  to  all  his 
manifold  tasks.  So  evidently  painstaking  was  he,  that  the 
little  bookkeeper  glanced  at  him  sharply  once  or  twice. 
However,  he  said  nothing. 

When  darkness  approached  the  bookkeeper  closed  his 
ledger  and  came  over  to  Bob's  desk.  In  ten  minutes  he 
ran  deftly  over  Bob's  afternoon  work;  re-checking  the  supply 
invoices,  verifying  the  time  checks,  comparing  the  tallies 
with  the  sealers'  reports.  So  swiftly  and  accurately  did 
he  accomplish  this,  with  so  little  hesitation  and  so  assured 
a  belief  in  his  own  correctness  that  the  really  taxing  job  seemed 
merely  a  bit  of  light  mental  gymnastics  after  the  day's  work. 

"Good!"  he  complimented  Bob;  "everything's  correct" 

Bob  nodded,  a  little  gloomily.  It  might  be  correct;  but 
he  was  very  tired  from  the  strain  of  it. 

"It'll  come  easier  with  practice,"  said  Collins;  "always 
difficult  to  do  a  new  thing." 


50  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

The  whistle  blew.  Bob  went  directly  to  his  room  and 
sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his  bed.  In  spite  of  Collins's  kindly 
meant  reassurances,  the  iron  of  doubt  had  entered  his  soul. 
He  had  tried  for  four  months,  and  was  no  nearer  facility 
than  when  he  started. 

"If  a  man  hadn't  learned  better  than  that,  I'd  have  called 
him  a  dub  and  told  him  to  get  off  the  squad,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, a  little  bitterly.  He  thought  a  moment.  "I  guess 
I'm  tired.  I  must  buck  up.  If  Collins  and  Archie  can  do 
it,  I  can.  It's  all  in  the  game.  Of  course,  it  takes  time  and 
training.  Get  in  the  game!" 


IX 

THIS  was  on  Tuesday.  During  the  rest  of  the  week 
Bob  worked  hard.  Even  a  skilled  man  would  have 
been  kept  busy  by  the  multitude  of  details  that 
poured  in  on  the  little  office.  Poor  Bob  was  far  from  skilled. 
He  felt  as  awkward  amid  all  these  swift  and  accurate  activities 
as  he  had  when  at  sixteen  it  became  necessary  to  force  his 
overgrown  frame  into  a  crowded  drawing  room.  He  tried 
very  hard,  as  he  always  did  with  everything.  When  Collins 
succinctly  called  his  attention  to  a  discrepancy  in  his  figur- 
ings,  he  smiled  his  slow,  winning,  troubled  smile,  thrust 
the  hair  back  from  his  clear  eyes,  and  bent  his  lean  athlete's 
frame  again  to  the  labour.  He  soon  discovered  that  this 
work  demanded  speed  as  well  as  accuracy.  "And  I  need 
a  ten-acre  lot  to  turn  around  in,"  he  told  himself  half  hum- 
orously. "I'm  a  regular  ice-wagon." 

He  now  came  to  look  back  on  his  college  triumphs  with  an 
exaggerated  but  wholesome  reaction.  His  athletic  prowess 
had  given  him  great  prominence  in  college  circles.  Girls 
had  been  flattered  at  his  attention;  his  classmates  had  deferred 
to  his  skill  and  experience;  his  juniors  had,  in  the  manner  of 
college  boys,  looked  up  to  him  as  to  a  demi-god.  Then  for 
the  few  months  of  the  football  season  the  newspapers  had 
made  of  him  a  national  character.  His  picture  appeared 
at  least  once  a  week;  his  opinions  were  recorded;  his  physical 
measurements  carefully  detailed.  When  he  appeared  on 
the  streets  and  in  hotel  lobbies,  people  were  apt  to  recog- 
nize him  and  whisper  furtively  to  one  another.  Bob  was 
naturally  the  most  modest  youth  in  the  world,  and  he  hated 
a  "fuss"  after  the  delightfully  normal  fashion  of  normal 

51 


52  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

boys,  but  all  this  could  not  fail  to  have  its  subtle  effect.  He 
went  out  into  the  world  without  conceit,  but  confident  of 
his  ability  to  take  his  place  with  the  best  of  them. 

His  first  experience  showed  him  wholly  second  in  natural 
qualifications,  in  ability  to  learn,  and  in  training  to  men  sub- 
ordinate in  the  business  world. 

"I'm  just  plain  dub,"  he  told  himself.  " I  thought  myself 
some  pumpkins  and  got  all  swelled  up  inside  because  good 
food  and  leisure  and  heredity  gave  me  a  husky  build  1  Foot- 
ball! What  good  does  that  do  me  here?  Four  out  of  five 
of  these  rivermen  are  huskier  than  I  am.  Me  a  business 
man!  Why  I  can't  seem  even  to  learn  the  first  principles  of 
the  first  job  of  the  whole  lot!  I've  got  to!"  he  admonished 
himself  grimly.  "I  hate  a  fellow  who  doesn't  make  good!" 
and  with  a  very  determined  set  to  his  handsome  chin  he  hurled 
the  whole  force  of  his  young  energies  at  those  elusive  figures 
that  somehow  would  lie. 

The  week  slipped  by  in  this  struggle.  It  was  much  worse 
than  in  the  Chicago  office.  There  Bob  was  allowed  all  the 
time  he  thought  he  needed.  Here  one  task  followed  close 
on  the  heels  of  another,  without  chance  for  a  breathing  space 
or  room  to  take  bearings.  Bob  had  to  do  the  best  he  co«ldr 
commit  the  result  to  a  merciful  providence,  and  seize  the 
next  job  by  the  throat. 

One  morning  he  awoke  with  a  jump  to  find  it  was  seven 
o'clock.  He  had  heard  neither  whistle,  and  must  have 
overslept!  Hastily  he  leaped  into  his  clothes,  and  rushed 
out  into  the  dining  room.  There  he  found  the  chore-boy 
leisurely  feeding  a  just-lighted  kitchen  fire.  To  Bob's 
exclamation  of  astonishment  he  looked  up. 

"Sunday,"  he  grinned;  "breakfus'  at  eight." 

The  week  had  gone  without  Bob's  having  realized  the 
fact. 

Mrs.  Hallowell  came  in  a  moment  later,  smiling  at  the 
winning,  handsome  young  man  in  her  fat  and  good-humoured 
manner.  Bob  was  seized  with  an  inspiration. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  53 

"Mrs.  Hallowell,"  he  said  persuasively,  "just  let  me 
rummage  around  for  five  minutes,  will  you?" 

"You  that  hungry?"  she  chuckled.  "Law!  I'll  have 
breakfast  in  an  hour." 

'•'It  isn't  that,"  said  Bob;  "but  I  want  to  get  some  air 
to-day.  I'm  not  used  to  being  in  an  office.  I  want  to 
steal  a  hunk  of  bread,  and  a  few  of  your  good  doughnuts  and 
a  slice  of  cheese  for  breakfast  and  lunch." 

"A  cup  of  hot  coffee  would  do  you  more  good,"  objected 
Mrs.  Halloweil. 

"Please,"  begged  Bob,  "and  I  won't  disturb  a  thing." 

"Oh,  land  I  Don't  worry  about  that,"  said  Mrs.  Hallo- 
well,  "  there's  teamsters  and  such  in  here  all  times  of  the  day 
and  night.  Help  yourself." 

Five  minutes  later,  Bob,  swinging  a  riverman's  canvas 
lunch  bag,  was  walking  rapidly  up  the  River  Trail.  He 
did  not  know  whither  he  was  bound;  but  here  at  last  was  a 
travelled  way.  It  was  a  brilliant  blue  and  gold  morning, 
the  air  crisp,  the  sun  warm.  The  trail  led  him  first  across 
a  stretch  of  stump-dotted  wet  land  with  pools  and  rounded 
rises,  green  new  grass,  and  trickling  streamlets  of  recently 
melted  snow.  Then  came  a  fringe  of  scrub  growth  woven 
into  an  almost  impenetrable  tangle  —  oaks,  poplars,  willows, 
cedar,  tamarack  —  and  through  it  all  an  abattis  of  old 
slashing  —  with  its  rotting,  fallen  stumps,  its  network  of 
tops,  its  soggy  root-holes,  its  fallen,  uprooted  trees.  Along 
one  of  these  strutted  a  partridge.  It  clucked  at  Bob,  but 
refused  to  move  faster,  lifting  its  feet  deliberately  and  spread- 
ing its  fanlike  tail.  The  River  Trail  here  took  to  poles 
laid  on  rough  horses.  The  poles  were  old  and  slippery,  and 
none  too  large.  Bob  had  to  walk  circumspectly  to  stay  on 
them  at  all.  Shortly,  however,  he  stepped  of!  into  the 
higher  country  of  the  hardwoods.  Here  the  spring  had 
passed,  scattering  her  fresh  green.  The  tops  of  the  trees 
were  already  in  half-leaf;  the  lower  branches  just  budding, 
so  that  it  seemed  the  sowing  must  have  been  from  above. 


54  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Last  year's  leaves,  softened  and  packed  by  the  snow,  covered 
the  ground  with  an  indescribably  beautiful  and  noiseless 
carpet.  Through  it  pushed  the  early  blossoms  of  the  hepa- 
tica.  Grackles  whistled  clearly.  Distant  redwings  gave 
their  celebrated  imitation  of  a  great  multitude.  Bluebirds 
warbled  on  the  wing.  The  busier  chickadees  and  creepers 
searched  the  twigs  and  trunks,  interpolating  occasional 
remarks.  The  sun  slanted  through  the  forest. 

Bob  strode  on  vigorously.  His  consciousness  received 
these  things  gratefully,  and  yet  he  was  more  occupied  with 
a  sense  of  physical  joy  and  harmony  with  the  world  of  out- 
of-doors  than  with  an  analysis  of  its  components.  At  one 
point,  however,  he  paused.  The  hardwoods  had  risen  over 
a  low  hill.  Now  they  opened  to  show  a  framed  picture  of 
the  river,  distant  and  below.  In  contrast  to  the  modulated 
browns  of  the  tree-trunks,  the  new  green  and  lilac  of  the 
undergrowth  and  the  far-off  hills  across  the  way,  it  showed 
like  a  patch  of  burnished  blue  steel.  Logs  floated  across 
the  vista,  singly,  in  scattered  groups,  in  masses.  Again, 
the  river  was  clear.  While  Bob  watched,  a  man  floated  into 
view.  He  was  standing  bolt  upright  and  at  ease  on  a  log 
so  small  that  the  water  lapped  over  its  top.  From  this  dis- 
tance Bob  could  but  just  make  it  out.  The  man  leaned 
carelessly  on  his  peavy.  Across  the  vista  he  floated,  grace- 
ful and  motionless,  on  his  way  from  the  driving  camp  to  the 
mill. 

Bob  gave  a  whistle  of  admiration,  and  walked  on. 

"I  wish  some  of  our  oarsmen  could  see  that,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "They're  always  guying  the  fellows  that  tip  over 
their  cranky  little  shells." 

He  stopped  short. 

s:I  couldn't  do  it,"  he  cried  aloud;  "nor  I  couldn't  learn 
tP  do  it.  I  sure  am  a  dub ! ' ' 

He  trudged  on,  his  spirits  again  at  the  ebb.  The  bright- 
ness of  the  day  had  dimmed.  Indeed,  physically,  a  change 
had  taken  place.  Over  the  sun  banked  clouds  had  drawn. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  55 

With  the  disappearance  of  the  sunlight  a  little  breeze,  before 
but  a  pleasant  and  wandering  companion  to  the  birds,  became 
cold  and  draughty.  The  leaf  carpet  proved  to  be  soggy; 
and  as  for  the  birds  themselves,  their  whistles  suddenly  grew 
plaintive  as  though  with  the  portent  of  late  autumn. 

This  sudden  transformation,  usual  enough  with  every  pass- 
ing cloud  in  the  childhood  of  the  spring,  reacted  still  further 
on  Bob's  spirits.  He  trudged  doggedly  on.  After  a  time 
a  gleam  of  water  caught  his  attention  to  the  left.  He  deserted 
the  River  Trail,  descended  a  slope,  pushed  his  way  through 
a  thicket  of  tamaracks  growing  out  from  wire  grass  and  pud- 
dles, and  found  himself  on  the  shores  of  a  round  lake. 

It  was  a  small  body  of  water,  completely  surrounded  by 
tall,  dead  brown  grasses.  These  were  in  turn  fringed  by 
melancholy  tamaracks.  The  water  was  dark  slate  colour,  and 
ruffled  angrily  by  the  breeze  which  here  in  the  open  devel- 
oped some  slight  strength.  It  reminded  Bob  of  a  "  bottom- 
less" lake  pointed  out  many  years  before  to  his  childish 
credulity.  A  lonesome  hell  diver  flipped  down  out  of  sight 
as  Bob  appeared. 

The  wet  ground  swayed  and  bent  alarmingly  under  his 
tread.  A  stub  attracted  him.  He  perched  on  the  end  of  it, 
his  feet  suspended  above  the  wet,  and  abandoned  himself  to 
reflection.  The  lonesome  diver  reappeared.  The  breeze 
rustled  the  dead  grasses  and  the  tamaracks  until  they  seemed 
to  be  shivering  in  the  cold. 

Bob  was  facing  himself  squarely.  This  was  his  first  grapple 
with  the  world  outside.  To  his  direct  American  mind  the 
problem  was  simplicity  in  the  extreme.  An  idler  is  a  con- 
temptible being.  A  rich  idler  is  almost  beneath  contempt. 
A  man's  life  lies  in  activity.  Activity,  outside  the  artistic 
and  professional,  means  the  world  of  business.  All  teaching 
at  home  and  through  the  homiletic  magazines,  fashionable 
at  that  period,  pointed  out  but  one  road  to  success  in  this 
world  —  the  beginning  at  the  bottom,  as  Bob  was  doing; 
close  application;  accuracy;  frugality;  honesty;  fair  dealing. 


56  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

The  homiletic  magazines  omitted  idealism  and  imagination; 
but  perhaps  those  qualities  are  so  common  in  what  some 
people  are  pleased  to  call  our  humdrum  modern  business  life 
that  they  were  taken  for  granted.  If  a  young  man  could  not 
succeed  in  this  world,  something  was  wrong  with  him.  Can 
Bob  be  blamed  that  in  this  baffling  and  unsuspected  incapa- 
city he  found  a  great  humility  of  spirit?  In  his  fashion  he 
began  to  remember  trifling  significances  which  at  the  time 
had  meant  little  to  him.  Thus,  a  girl  had  once  told  him, 
half  seriously: 

"  Yes,  you're  a  nice  boy,  just  as  everybody  tells  you;  a  nice, 
big,  blundering,  stupid,  Newfoundland-dog  boy." 

He  had  laughed  good-humouredly,  and  had  forgotten. 
Now  he  caught  at  one  word  of  it.  That  might  explain  it; 
he  was  just  plain  stupid  I  And  stupid  boys  either  played 
polo  or  drove  fancy  horses  or  ran  yachts  —  or  occupied  orna- 
mental —  too  ornamental  —  desks  for  an  hour  or  so  a  day. 
Bob  remembered  how,  as  a  small  boy,,  he  used  to  hold  the 
ends  of  the  reins  under  the  delighted  belief  that  he  was 
driving  his  father's  spirited  pair. 

"I've  outgrown  holding  the  reins,  thank  you,"  he  said 
aloud  in  disgust.  At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  diver  dis- 
appeared. Bob  laughed  and  felt  a  trifle  better. 

He  reviewed  himself  dispassionately.  He  could  not  but 
admit  that  he  had  tried  hard  enough,  and  that  he  had  cour- 
age. It  was  just  a  case  of  limitation.  Bob,  for  the  first 
tiimer  bumped  against  the  stone  wall  that  hems  us  in  on  all 
sidles  —  save  toward  the  sky. 

He  fell  into  a  profound  discouragement;  a  discouragement 
that  somehow  found  its  prototype  in  the  mournful  little 
lake  with  its  kaden  water, its  cold  breeze, its  whispering,dried 
marsh  grasses,  its  funereal  tamaracks,  and  its  lonesome  diver. 


X 

BUT  Bob  was  no  quitter.  The  next  morning  he  tramped 
down  to  the  office,  animated  by  a  new  courage.  Even 
stupid  boys  learn,  he  remembered.  It  takes  longer, 
of  course,  and  requires  more  application.  But  he  was  strong 
and  determined.  He  remembered  Fatty  Hayes,  who  took 
four  years  to  make  the  team  —  Fatty,  who  couldn't  get  a 
signal  through  his  head  until  about  time  for  the  next  play, 
and  whose  great  body  moved  appreciable  seconds  after  his 
brain  had  commanded  it;  Fatty  Hayes,  the  "scrub's"  chop- 
ping block  for  trying  out  new  men  on!  And  yet  he  did 
make  the  team  in  his  senior  year.  Bob  acknowledged  him 
a  very  good  centre,  not  brilliant,  but  utterly  sure  and 
safe. 

Full  of  this  dogged  spirit,  he  tackled  the  day's  work.  It 
was  a  heavy  day's  work.  The  mill  was  just  hitting  its 
stride,  the  tall  ships  were  being  laden  and  sent  away  to  the 
four  winds,  buyers  the  country  over  were  finishing  their 
contracts.  Collins,  his  coat  off,  his  sleeve  protectors  strapped 
closely  about  his  thin  arms,  worked  at  an  intense  white  heat. 
He  wasted  no  second  of  time,  nor  did  he  permit  discursive 
interruption.  His  manner  to  those  who  entered  the  office 
was  civil  but  curt.  Time  was  now  the  essence  of  the  con- 
tract these  men  had  with  life. 

About  ten  o'clock  he  turned  from  a  swift  contemplation 
of  the  tally  board. 

"Orde!"  said  he  sharply. 

Bob  disentangled  himself  from  his  chair. 

"Look  there,"  said  the  bookkeeper,  pointing  a  long  and 
nervous  finger  at  three  of  the  tags  he  held  in  his  hand. 

57 


58  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"There's  three  errors."     He  held  out  for  inspection  the 
original  sealers'  report  which  he  had  dug  out  of  the  files. 

Bob  looked  at  the  discrepant  figures  with  amazement. 
He  had  checked  the  tags  over  twice,  and  both  times  the 
error  had  escaped  his  notice.  His  mind,  self-hypnotized, 
had  passed  them  over  in  the  same  old  fashion.  Yet  he  had 
taken  especial  pains  with  that  list. 

"I  happened,  just  happened,  to  check  these  back  myself," 
Collins  was  saying  rapidly.  "If  I  hadn't,  we'd  have  made 
that  contract  with  Robinson  on  the  basis  of  what  these 
tags  show.  We  haven't  got  that  much  seasoned  uppers, 
nor  anything  like  it.  If  you've  made  many  more  breaks  like 
this,  if  we'd  contracted  with  Robinson  for  what  we  haven't 
got  or  couldn't  get,  we'd  be  in  a  nice  mess  —  and  so  would 
Robinson!" 

"I'm  sorry,"  murmured  Bob.     "I'll  try  to  do  better." 

"Won't  do,"  said  Collins  briefly.  "You  aren't  big 
enough  for  the  job.  I  can't  get  behind,  checking  over 
your  work.  This  office  is  too  rushed  as  it  is.  Can't  fool 
with  blundering  stupidity." 

Bob  flushed  at  the  word. 

"I  guess  you'd  better  take  your  time,"  went  on  Collins. 
"You  may  be  all  right,  for  all  I  know,  but  I  haven't  got  time 
to  find  out." 

He  rang  a  bell  twice,  and  snatched  down  the  telephone 
receiver. 

"Hullo,  yards,  send  up  Tommy  Gould  to  the  office.  I 
want  him  to  help  me.  I  don't  give  a  damn  for  the  scaling. 
You'll  have  to  get  along  somehow.  The  five  of  you  ought 
to  hold  that  down.  Send  up  Gould,  anyhow."  He  slammed 
up  the  receiver,  muttering  something  about  incompetence. 
Bob  for  a  moment  had  a  strong  impulse  to  retort,  but  his 
anger  died.  He  saw  that  Collins  was  not  for  the  moment 
thinking  of  him  at  all  as  a  human  being,  as  a  personality  - 
only  as  a  piece  of  this  great,  swiftly  moving  machine,  that 
would  not  run  smoothly.  The  fact  that  he  had  come  under 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  59 

Fox's  convoy  evidently  meant  nothing  to  the  little  book- 
keeper, at  least  for  the  moment.  Collins  was  entirely  accus- 
tomed to  hiring  and  discharging  men.  When  transplanted 
to  the  frontier  industries,  even  such  automatic  jobs  as  book- 
keeping take  on  new  duties  and  responsibilities. 

Bob,  after  a  moment  of  irresolution,  reached  for  his  hat. 

"That  will  be  all,  then?"  he  asked. 

Collins  came  out  of  the  abstraction  into  which  he  had 
fallen. 

"Oh  —  yes,"  he  said.  "Sorry,  but  of  course  we  can't 
take  chances  on  these  things  being  right." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Bob  steadily. 

"You  just  need  more  training,"  went  on  Collins  with 
some  vague  idea  of  being  kind  to  this  helpless,  attractive 
young  fellow.  "I  learned  under  Harry  Thorpe  that  results 
is  all  a  man  looks  at  in  this  business." 

"I  guess  that's  right,"  said  Bob.     "Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Collins  over  his  shoulder.  Already  he 
was  lost  in  the  rapid  computations  and  calculations  that 
filled  his  hours. 


XI 

BOB  left  the  office  and  tramped  blindly  out  of  town.  His 
feet  naturally  led  him  to  the  River  Trail.  Where  the 
path  finally  came  out  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  he  sat 
down  and  delivered  himself  over  to  the  gloomiest  of  reflections. 

He  was  aroused  finally  by  a  hearty  greeting  from  behind 
him.  He  turned  without  haste,  surprise  or  pleasure  to 
examine  the  new  comer. 

Bob  saw  surveying  him  a  man  well  above  sixty,  heavy- 
bodied,  burly,  big,  with  a  square  face,  heavy- jowled  and 
homely,  with  deep  blue  eyes  set  far  apart,  and  iron  gray  hair 
that  curled  at  the  ends.  With  the  quick,  instinctive  sizing-up 
developed  on  the  athletic  field,  Bob  thought  him  coarse- 
fibred,  jolly,  a  little  obtuse,  but  strong  —  very  strong  with 
the  strength  of  competent  effectiveness.  He  was  dressed  in 
a  slouch  hat,  a  flannel  shirt,  a  wrinkled  old  business  suit  and 
mud-splashed,  laced  half-boots. 

"Well,  bub,"  said  this  man,  " enjoying  the  scenery?" 

"Yes,"  said  Bob  with  reserve.  He  was  in  no  mood  for 
casual  conversation,  but  the  stranger  went  on  cheerfully. 

"Like  it  pretty  well  myself,  hereabouts."  He  filled  and 
lighted  a  pipe.  "This  is  a  good  time  of  year  for  the  woods; 
no  mosquitos,  pretty  warm,  mighty  nice  overhead.  Can't 
say  so  much  for  underfoot."  He  lifted  and  surveyed  one 
foot  comically,  and  Bob  noticed  that  his  shoes  were  not 
armed  with  the  riverman's  long,  sharpened  spikes.  "Pretty 
good  hunting  here  in  the  fall,  and  fishing  later.  Not  much 
now.  Up  here  to  look  around  a  little  ?  " 

"No,  not  quite,"  said  Bob  vaguely. 

"This  ain't  much  of  a  pleasure  resort,  and  a  stranger's  a 

60 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  61 

pretty  unusual  thing,"  said  the  big  man  by  way  of  half- 
apology  for  his  curiosity.  "Up  buying,  I  suppose  —  or 
maybe  selling?" 

Bob  looked  up  with  a  beginning  of  resentment  against 
this  apparent  intrusion  on  his  private  affairs.  He  met  the 
good-humoured,  jolly  eyes.  In  spite  of  himself  he  half 
smiled. 

"Not  that  either,"  said  he. 

"You  aren't  in  the  company's  employ?"  persisted  the 
stranger  with  an  undercurrent  of  huge  delight  in  his  tone, 
as  though  he  were  playing  a  game  that  he  enjoyed. 

Bob  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed.  It  was  a  short 
laugh  and  a  bitter  one. 

"No,"  said  he  shortly,  " — not  now.  I've  just  been 
fired." 

The  big  man  promptly  dropped  down  beside  him  on  the 
log. 

"Don't  say!"  he  cried;  "what's  the  matter?" 

"The  matter  is  that  I'm  no  good,"  said  Bob  evenly,  and 
without  the  slightest  note  of  complaint. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  suggested  the  big  man  soberly  after 
a  moment.  "I'm  pretty  close  to  Fox.  Perhaps " 

"It  isn't  a  case  of  pull,"  Bob  interrupted  him  pleasantly. 
"It's  a  case  of  total  incompetence." 

"That's  a  rather  large  order  for  a  husky  boy  like  you," 
said  the  older  man  with  a  sudden  return  to  his  undertone 
of  bantering  jollity. 

"  Well,  I've  filled  it,"  said  Bob.  "  That's  the  one  job  I've 
done  good  and  plenty." 

"Haven't  stolen  the  stove,  have  you?" 

"Might  better.     It  couldn't  be  any  hotter  than  Collins." 

The  stranger  chuckled. 

"He  is  a  peppery  little  cuss,"  was  his  comment.  "What 
did  you  do  to  him?" 

Bob  told  him,  lightly,  as  though  the  affair  might  be  con- 
sidered humorous.  The  stranger  became  grave. 


62  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

" That  all?"  he  inquired. 

Bob's  self-disgust  overpowered  him. 

"No,"  said  he,  "not  by  a  long  shot."  In  brief  sentences 
he  told  of  his  whole  experience  since  entering  the  business 
world.  When  he  had  finished,  his  companion  puffed  away 
for  several  moments  in  silence. 

"Well,  what  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  Bob  confessed.  "I've  got  to  tell  father 
I'm  no  good.  That  is  the  only  thing  I  can  see  ahead  to 
now.  It  will  break  him  all  up,  and  I  don't  blame  him. 
Father  is  too  good  a  man  himself  not  to  feel  this  sort  of  a 
thing." 

"I  see,"  said  the  stranger.  "Well,  it  may  come  out  in 
the  wash,"  he  concluded  vaguely  after  a  moment.  Bob 
stared  out  at  the  river,  lost  in  the  gloomy  thoughts  his  last 
speech  had  evoked.  The  stranger  improved  the  opportunity 
to  look  the  young  man  over  critically  from  head  to  foot. 

"I  see  you're  a  college  man,"  said  he,  indicating  Bob's 
fraternity  pin. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  young  man  listlessly.  "I  went  to  the 
University." 

"That  so!"  said  the  stranger,  "well,  you're  ahead  of  me. 
I  never  got  even  to  graduate  at  the  high  school." 

"Am  I?"  said  Bob. 

"What  did  you  do  at  college?"  inquired  the  big  man. 

"Oh,  usual  classical  course,  Greek,  Latin,  Pol  EC. * 

"  I  don't  mean  what  you  learned.     What  did  you  do  ?  " 

Bob  reflected. 

"I  don't  believe  I  did  a  single  earthly  thing  except  play 
«  little  football,"  he  confessed. 

"Oh,  you  played  football,  did  you?  That's  a  great  game! 
I'd  rather  see  a  good  game  of  football  than  a  snake  fight. 
Make  the  'varsity?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  did  you  play?" 

"Halfback." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  63 

"Pretty  heavy  for  a  'half/  ain't  you?" 

"Well  —  I  train  down  a  little  —  and  I  managed  to  get 
around." 

"Play  all  four  years?" 

"Yes/" 

"Like  it?" 

Bob's  eye  lit  up.  "Yes!"  he  cried.  Then  his  face  fell. 
"Too  much,  I  guess,"  he  added  sadly. 

For  the  first  time  the  twinkle  in  the  stranger's  eye  found 
vocal  expression.  He  chuckled.  It  was  a  good,  jolly, 
subterranean  chuckle  from  deep  in  his  throat,  and  it  shook 
all  his  round  body  to  its  foundations. 

"Who  bossed  you?"  he  asked,  "  — your  captain,  I  mean. 
What  sort  of  a  fellow  was  he  ?  Did  you  get  along  with  him 
all  right?" 

"Had  to,"  Bob  grinned  wryly;  "you  see  they  happened 
to  make  me  captain." 

"  Oh,  they  happened  to,  did  they  ?    What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"Orde." 

The  stranger  gurgled  again. 

"You're  just  out  then.  You  must  have  captained  those 
big  scoring  teams." 

"They  were  good  teams.    I  was  lucky,"  said  Bob. 

"Didn't  I  see  by  the  papers  that  you  went  back  to  coach 
last  fall?" 

"Yes." 

"I've  been  away  and  couldn't  keep  tab.  How  did  you 
come  out?" 

"Pretty  well." 

"Win  ail  your  games?" 

"Yes." 

"That's  good.  Thought  you  were  going  to  have  a  hard 
row  to  hoe.  Before  I  went  away  the  papers  said  most  of  the 
old  men  had  graduated,  and  the  material  was  very  poor. 
How  did  you  work  it?" 

"The  material  was  all  right,"  Bob  returned,  relaxing  a 


64  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

trifle  in  the  interest  of  this  discussion.  "It  was  only  a  little 
raw,  and  needed  shaking  into  shape." 

"And  you  did  the  shaking." 

"I  suppose  so;  but  you  see  it  didn't  amount  to  much 
because  I'd  had  a  lot  of  experience  in  being  captain." 

The  stranger  chuckled  one  of  his  jolly  subterranean 
chuckles  again.  He  arose  to  his  feet. 

"Well,  I've  got  to  get  along  to  town,"  said  he. 

"I'll  trot  along,  too,"  said  Bob. 

They  tramped  back  in  silence  by  the  River  Trail.  On 
the  pole  trail  across  the  swamp  the  stranger  walked  with 
a  graceful  and  assured  ease  in  spite  of  his  apparently  unwieldy 
build.  As  the  two  entered  one  of  the  sawdust-covered  streets, 
they  were  hailed  by  Jim  Mason. 

"Why,  Mr.  Welton!"  he  cried,  "when  did  you  get  in  and 
where  did  you  come  from?" 

"Just  now,  Jim,"  Welton  answered.  "Dropped  off  at 
the  tank,  and  walked  down  to  see  how  the  river  work  was 
coming  on." 


XII 

TOWARD  dusk  Welton  entered  the  boarding  house 
where  Bob  was  sitting  rather  gloomily  by  the  central 
stove.  The  big  man  plumped  himself  down  into  a  pro- 
testing chair,  and  took  off  his  slouch  hat.  Bob  saw  his  low, 
square  forehead  with  the  peculiar  hair,  black  and  gray  in 
streaks,  curling  at  the  ends. 

"Why  don't  you  take  a  little  trip  with  me  up  to  the  Cedar 
Branch?"  he  asked  Bob  without  preamble.  "No  use  your 
going  home  right  now.  Your  family's  in  Washington;  and 
will  be  for  a  month  or  so  yet." 

Bob  thought  it  over. 

"Believe  I  will,"  he  decided  at  last. 

"Do  so!"  cried  Welton  heartily.  "Might  as  well  see  a 
little  of  the  life.  Don't  suppose  you  ever  went  on  a  drive 
with  your  dad  when  you  were  a  kid  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Bob,  "I  used  to  go  up  to  the  booms 
with  him  —  I  remember  them  very  well ;  but  we  moved 
up  to  Redding  before  I  was  old  enough  to  get  about 
much." 

Welton  nodded  his  great  head. 

"Good  old  days,"  he  commented;  "and  let  me  tell  you, 
your  dad  was  one  of  the  best  of  'em.  Jack  Orde  is  a  name 
you  can  scare  fresh  young  rivermen  with  yet,"  he  added  with 
a  laugh.  "Well,  pack  your  turkey  to-night;  we'll  take  the 
early  train  to-morrow." 

That  evening  Bob  laid  out  what  he  intended  to  take  with 
him,  and  was  just  about  to  stuff  it  into  a  pair  of  canvas  bags 
when  Tommy  Gould,  the  youngest  sealer,  pushed  open  the 
door. 


66  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Hello!"  he  smiled  engagingly;  "where  are  you  going? 
Been  transferred  from  the  office?" 

"On  drive,"  said  Bob,  diplomatically  ignoring  the  last 
question. 

Tommy  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  laughed  until 
he  was  weak.  Bob  stared  at  him. 

"Is  there  anything  funny?"  he  inquired  at  last. 

"Did, you  say  on  drive?"  inquired  Tommy  feebly. 

"Certainly." 

"With  that?"  Tommy  pointed  a  wavering  finger  at  the 
pile  of  duffle. 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?"  inquired  Bob,  a  trifle 
uncertainly. 

"Oh,  it's  all  right.  Only  wait  till  Roaring  Dick  sees  it. 
I'd  like  to  see  his  face." 

"  Look  here,  Tommy,"  said  Bob  with  decision,  "  this  isn't 
fair.  Fve  never  been  on  drive  before,  and  you  know  it. 
Now  tell  me  what's  wrong  or  I'll  wring  your  fool  neck." 

"You  can't  take  all  that  stuff,"  Tommy  explained,  wiping 
his  eyes.  "Why,  if  everybody  had  all  that  mess,  how  do 
you  suppose  it  would  be  carried?" 

"I've  only  got  the  barest  necessities,"  objected  Bob. 

"Spread  out  your  pile,"  Tommy  commanded.  "There. 
Take  those.  Now  forget  the  rest." 

Bob  surveyed  the  single  change  of  underwear  and  the 
extra  socks  with  comical  dismay.  Next  morning  when  he 
joined  Welton  he  discovered  that  individual  carrying  a  tooth 
brush  in  his  vest  pocket  and  a  pair  of  woolen  socks  stuffed 
in  his  coat.  These  and  a  sweater  were  his  only  baggage. 
Bob's  "turkey,"  modest  as  it  was,  seemed  to  represent  effete 
luxury  in  comparison. 
,  "  How  long  will  this  take  ?  "  he  asked. 

"'The  drive?  About  three  weeks,"  Welton  told  him. 
"You'd  better  stay  and  see  it.  It  isn't  much  of  a  drive 
compared  with  the  old  days;  but  in  a  very  few  years  there 
won't  be  any  drives  at  all." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  67 

They  boarded  a  train  which  at  the  end  of  twenty  minutes 
came  to  a  stop.  Bob  and  Welton  descended.  The  train 
moved  on,  leaving  them  standing  by  the  track. 

The  remains  of  the  forest,  overgrown  with  scrub  oak  and 
popple  thickets  pushed  down  to  the  right  of  way.  A  road, 
deep  with  mud  and  water,  beginning  at  this  point,  plunged 
into  the  wilderness.  That  was  all. 

Welton  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  splashed  cheer- 
fully into  the  ankle-deep  mud.  Bob  shouldered  his  little 
bag  and  followed.  Somehow  he  had  vaguely  expected  some 
sort  of  conveyance. 

"How  far  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  ten  or  twelve  miles,"  said  Welton. 

Bob  experienced  a  glow  of  gratitude  to  the  blithe  Tommy 
Gould.  What  would  he  have  done  with  that  baggage  out  here 
in  this  lonesome  wilderness  of  unbroken  barrens  and  mud? 

The  day  was  beautiful,  but  the  sun  breaking  through  the 
skin  of  last  night's  freezing,  softened  the  ground  until  the 
going  was  literally  ankle-deep  in  slush.  Welton,  despite 
his  weight,  tramped  along  cheerfully  in  the  apparently 
careless  indifference  of  the  skilled  woods  walker.  Bob 
followed,  but  he  used  more  energy.  He  was  infinitely  the 
older  man's  superior  in  muscle  and  endurance,  yet  he  realized, 
with  respect  and  admiration,  that  in  a  long  or  difficult  day's 
tramp  through  the  woods  Welton  would  probably  hold  him, 
step  for  step. 

The  road  wound  and  changed  direction  entirely  according 
to  expedient.  It  was  a  "tote  road"  merely,  cutting  across 
these  barrens  by  the  direct est  possible  route.  Deep  mire 
holes,  roots  of  trees,  an  infrequent  boulder,  puddles  and 
cruel  ruts  diversified  the  way.  Occasional  teeth- rattling 
stretches  of  "corduroy"  led  through  a  swamp. 

"I  don't  see  how  a  team  can  haul  a  load  over  this!"  Bob 
voiced  his  marvel,  after  a  time. 

"It  don't,"  said  Welton.  "The  supplies  are  all  hauled 
while  the  ground  is  frozen.  A  man  goes  by  hand  now." 


68  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

In  the  swamps  and  bottom  lands  it  was  a  case  of  slip,  slide 
and  wallow.  The  going  was  trying  on  muscle  and  wind. 
To  right  and  left  stretched  mazes  of  white  popples  and 
willows  tangled  with  old  berry  vines  and  the  abattis  of  the 
slashings.  Water  stood  everywhere.  To  traverse  that 
swamp  a  man  would  have  to  force  his  way  by  main  strength 
through  the  thick  growth,  would  have  to  balance  on  half- 
rotted  trunks  of  trees,  wade  and  stumble  through  pools  of 
varying  depths,  crawl  beneath  or  climb  over  all  sorts  of 
obstructions  in  the  shape  of  uproots,  spiky  new  growths,  and 
old  tree  trunks.  If  he  had  a  gun  in  his  hands,  he  would 
furthermore  be  compelled,  through  all  the  vicissitudes  of 
making  his  way,  to  hold  it  always  at  the  balance  ready 
for  the  snap  shot.  For  a  ruffed  grouse  is  wary,  and  flies 
like  a  bullet  for  speed,  and  is  up  and  gone  almost  before  the 
roar  of  its  wings  has  aroused  the  echoes.  Through  that 
veil  of  branches  a  man  must  shoot  quickly,  instinctively, 
from  any  one  of  the  many  positions  in  which  the  chance 
of  the  moment  may  have  caught  him.  Bob  knew  all 
about  this  sort  of  countiy,  and  his  pulses  quickened  to  the 
call  of  it. 

"Many  partridge?"  he  asked. 

"  Lots,"  replied  Welton;  "  but  the  country's  too  confounded 
big  to  hunt  them  in.  Like  to  hunt  ?" 

"Nothing  better,"  said  Bob. 

After  a  time  the  road  climbed  out  of  the  swamp  into  the 
hardwoods,  full  of  warmth  and  light  and  new  young  green, 
and  the  voices  of  many  creatures;  with  the  soft,  silent  carpet 
of  last  autumn's  brown,  the  tiny  patches  of  melting  snow, 
and  the  pools  with  dead  leaves  sunk  in  them  and  clear  sur- 
faces over  which  was  mirrored  the  flight  of  birds. 

Welton  puffed  along  steadily.  He  did  not  appear  to 
talk  much,  and  yet  the  sum  of  his  information  was  consid- 
erable. 

'•'That  road,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  dim  track,  "goes  down 
to  Thompson's.  He's  a  settler.  Lives  on  a  little  lake, 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  69 

"There's  a  deer,"  he  remarked,  "over  in  that  thicket 
against  the  hill." 

Bob  looked  closely,  but  could  see  nothing  until  the  animal 
bounded  away,  waving  the  white  flag  of  its  tail. 

"Settlers  up  here  are  a  confounded  nuisance,"  went  on 
Welton  after  a  while.  "They're  always  hollering  for  what 
they  call  their  'rights.'  That  generally  means  they  try  to 
hang  up  our  drive.  The  average  mossback's  a  hard  cus- 
tomer. I'd  rather  try  to  drive  nails  in  a  snowbank  than 
tackle  driving  logs  through  a  farm  country.  They  never 
realize  that  we  haven't  got  time  to  talk  it  all  out  for  a  few 
weeks.  There's  one  old  cuss  now  that's  making  us  trouble 
about  the  water.  Don't  want  to  open  up  to  give  us  a  fair 
run  through  the  sluices  of  his  dam.  Don't  seem  to  realize 
that  when  we  start  to  go  out,  we've  got  to  go  out  in  a  hurry, 
spite  o'  hell  and  low  water." 

He  went  on,  in  his  good-natured,  unexcited  fashion,  to 
inveigh  against  the  obstinacy  of  any  and  all  mossbacks. 
There  was  no  bitterness  in  it,  merely  a  marvel  over  an  inex- 
plicable, natural  phenomenon. 

"  Suppose  you  didn't  get  all  the  logs  out  this  year,"  asked 
Bob,  at  length.  "Of  course  it  would  be  a  nuisance;  but 
couldn't  you  get  them  next  year  ?  " 

"That's  the  trouble,"  Welton  explained.  "If  you  leave 
them  over  the  summer,  borers  get  into  them,  and  they're 
about  a  total  loss.  No,  my  son,  when  you  start  to  take  out 
logs  in  this  country,  you've  got  to  take  them  out!" 

"That's  what  I'm  going  in  here  for  now,"  he  explained, 
after  a  moment.  "This  Cedar  Branch  is  an  odd  job  we  had 
to  take  over  from  another  firm.  It  is  an  unimproved  river, 
and  difficult  to  drive,  and  just  lined  with  mossbacks.  The 
crew  is  a  mixed  bunch  —  some  old  men,  some  young  toughs. 
They're  a  hard  crowd,  and  one  not  like  the  men  on  the  main 
drive.  It  really  needs  either  Tally  or  me  up  here;  but  we 
can't  get  away  for  this  little  proposition.  He's  got  Darrell 
in  charge.  Darrell's  a  good  man  on  a  big  job.  Then  he 


70  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

feels  his  responsibility,  keeps  sober  and  drives  his  men  well. 
But  I'm  scared  he  won't  take  this  little  drive  serious.  If  he 
gets  one  drink  in  him,  it's  all  off!" 

"I  shouldn't  think  it  would  pay  to  put  such  a  man  in 
charge,"  said  Bob,  more  as  the  most  obvious  remark  than 
from  any  knowledge  or  conviction. 

" Wouldn't  you?"  Welton's  eyes  twinkled.  "Well,  son, 
after  you've  knocked  around  a  while  you'll  find  that  every 
man  is  good  for  something  somewhere.  Only  you  can't 
put  a  square  peg  in  a  round  hole." 

"How  much  longer  will  the  high  water  last?"  asked 
Bob. 

"Hard  to  say." 

"Well,  I  hope  you  get  the  logs  out,"  Bob  ventured. 

"Sure  we'll  get  them  out!"  replied  Welton  confidently. 
"We'll  get  them  out  if  we  have  to  go  spit  in  the  creek!" 
With  which  remark  the  subject  was  considered  closed. 

About  four  o'clock  of  the  afternoon  they  came  out  on 
a  low  bluff  overlooking  a  bottom  land  through  which  flowed 
a  little  stream  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet  across. 

"That's  the  Cedar  Branch,"  said  Welton,  "and  I  reckon 
that's  one  of  the  camps  up  where  you  see  that  smoke." 

They  deserted  the  road  and  made  their  way  through  a 
fringe  of  thin  brush  to  the  smoke.  Bob  saw  two  big  tents, 
a  smouldering  fire  surrounded  by  high  frames  on  which  hung 
a  few  drying  clothes,  a  rough  table,  and  a  cooking  fire  over 
which  bubbled  tremendous  kettles  and  fifty-pound  lard 
tins  suspended  from  a  rack.  A  man  sat  on  a  cracker  box 
reading  a  fragment  of  newspaper.  A  boy  of  sixteen  squatted 
by  the  fire. 

This  man  looked  up  and  nodded,  as  Welton  and  his  com- 
panion approached. 

"  Where's  the  drive,  doctor  ?  "  asked  the  lumberman. 

"This  is  the  jam  camp,"  replied  the  cook.  "The  jam's 
upstream  a  mile  or  so.  Rear's  back  by  Thompson's  some- 
wheres." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  71 

"Is  there  a  jam  in  the  river?"  asked  Bob  with  interest. 
41  I'd  like  to  see  it." 

"There's  a  dozen  a  day,  probably,"  replied  Welton;  "but 
in  this  case  he  just  means  the  head  of  the  drive.  We  call 
that  the  'jam.'" 

"  I  suppose  Darrell's  at  the  rear?"  Welton  asked  the  cook. 

"Yep,"  replied  that  individual,  rising  to  peer  into  one  of 
his  cavernous  cooking  utensils. 

"Who's  in  charge  here?" 

"Larsen." 

"  H'm,"  said  Welton.  "  Well, "  he  added  to  himself,  "  he's 
slow,  safe  and  sure,  anyway." 

He  led  the  way  to  one  of  the  tents  and  pulled  aside  the  flap. 
The  ground  inside  was  covered  by  a  welter  of  tumbled 
blankets  and  clothes. 

"Nice  tidy  housekeeping,"  he  grinned  at  Bob.  He  picked 
out  two  of  the  best  blankets  and  took  them  outside  where- 
he  hung  them  on  a  bush  and  beat  them  vigorously. 

"There,"  he  concluded,  "now  they're  ours." 

"What  about  the  fellows  who  had  'em  before?"  inquired 
Bob. 

"  They  probably  had  about  eight  apiece;  and  if  they  hadn't 
they  can  bunk  together." 

Bob  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  stream.  It  was  not  very 
wide,  yet  at  this  point  it  carried  from  three  to  six  or  eight 
feet  of  water,  according  to  the  bottom.  A  few  logs  were 
stranded  along  shore.  Two  or  three  more  floated  by,  the 
forerunners  of  the  drive.  Bob  could  see  where  the  highest 
water  had  flung  debris  among  the  bushes,  and  by  that  he 
knew  that  the  stream  must  be  already  dropping  from  its 
freshet. 

It  was  now  late  in  the  afternoon.  The  sun  dipped  behind 
a  cold  and  austere  hill-line.  Against  the  sky  showed  a  fringe 
of  delicate  popples,  like  spray  frozen  in  the  rise.  The  heavens 
near  the  horizon  were  a  cold,  pale  yellow  of  unguessed  lucent 
depths,  that  shaded  above  into  an  equally  cold,  pale  green. 


72  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Bob  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  turned  back  to  where 
the  drying  fire,  its  fuel  replenished,  was  leaping  across  the 
gathering  dusk. 

Immediately  after,  the  driving  crews  came  tramping  in 
from  upstream.  They  paid  no  attention  to  the  newcomers, 
but  dove  first  for  the  tent,  then  for  the  fire.  There  they 
began  to  pull  off  their  lower  garments,  and  Bob  saw  that 
most  of  them  were  drenched  from  the  waist  down.  The 
drying  racks  were  soon  steaming  with  wet  clothes. 

Welton  fell  into  low  conversation  with  an  old  man,  straight 
and  slender  as  a  Norway  pine,  with  blue  eyes,  flaxen  hair, 
eyebrows  and  moustache.  This  was  Larsen,  in  charge  of 
the  jam,  honest,  capable  in  his  way,  slow  of  speech,  almost 
childlike  of  glance.  After  a  few  minutes  Welton  rejoined 
Bob. 

"He's  a  square  peg,  all  right,"  he  muttered,  more  to  him- 
self than  to  his  companion.  "He's  a  good  riverman,  but 
lie's  no  river  boss.  Too  easy-going.  Well,  all  he  has  to  do 
:is  to  direct  the  work,  luckily.  If  anything  really  goes  wrong, 
Darrell  would  be  down  in  two  jumps." 

"Grub  pile!"  remarked  the  cook  conversationally. 

The  men  seized  the  utensils  from  a  heap  of  them,  and  began 
to  fill  their  plates  from  the  kettles  on  the  table. 

"Come  on,  bub,"  said  Welton,  "dig  in!  It's  a  long  time 
till  breakfast!" 


XIII 

THE  cook  was  early  a  foot  next  morning.  Bob,  restless 
with  the  uneasiness  of  the  first  night  out  of  doors, 
saw  the  flicker  of  the  fire  against  the  tent  canvas  long 
before  the  first  signs  of  daylight.  In  fact,  the  gray  had  but 
faintly  lightened  the  velvet  black  of  the  night  when  the  cook 
thrust  his  head  inside  the  big  sleeping  tents  to  utter  a  wild 
yell  of  reveille. 

The  men  stirred  sleepily,  stretched,  yawned,  finally  kicked 
aside  their  blankets.  Bob  stumbled  into  the  outer  air.  The 
chill  of  early  morning  struck  into  his  bones.  Teeth  chat- 
tering, he  hurried  to  the  river  bank  where  he  stripped  and 
splashed  his  body  with  the  bracing  water.  Then  he  rubbed 
down  with  the  little  towel  Tommy  Gould  had  allowed  him. 
The  reaction  in  this  chill  air  was  slow  in  coming  —  Bob 
soon  learned  that  the  early  cold  bath  out  of  doors  is  a  super- 
stition —  and  he  shivered  from  time  to  time  as  he  propped 
up  his  little  mirror  against  a  stump.  Then  he  shaved, 
anointing  his  face  after  the  careful  manner  of  college  boys. 
This  satisfactorily  completed,  he  fished  in  his  duffle  bag  to 
find  his  tooth  brush  and  soap.  His  hair  he  arranged  pains- 
takingly with  a  pair  of  military  brushes.  He  further  mani- 
pulated a  nail-brush  vigorously,  and  ended  with  manicuring 
his  nails.  Then,  clean,  vigorous,  fresh,  but  somewhat 
chilly,  he  packed  away  I.:s  toilet  things  and  started  for  camp. 

Whereupon,  for  the  first  time,  he  became  aware  of  one  of 
the  rivermen,  pipe  clenched  between  his  teeth,  watching 
him  sardonically. 

Bob  nodded,  and  made  as  though  to  pass. 

"Oh,  bub!"  said  the  older  man. 

73 


74  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Bob  stopped. 

"  Say,"  drawled  the  riverman,  "  air  you  as  much  trouble  to 
yourself  every  day  as  this?" 

Bob  laughed,  and  dove  for  camp.  He  found  it  practically 
deserted.  The  men  had  eaten  breakfast  and  departed  for 
work.  Welton  greeted  him. 

"Well,  bub,"  said  he,  "didn't  know  but  we'd  lost  you. 
Feed  your  face,  and  we'll  go  upstream." 

Bob  ate  rapidly.  After  breakfast  Welton  struck  into  a 
well-trodden  foot  trail  that  led  by  a  circuitous  route  up  the 
river  bottom,  over  points  of  land,  around  swamps.  Occa- 
sionally it  forked.  Then,  Welton  explained,  one  fork  was 
always  a  short  cut  across  a  bend,  while  the  other  followed 
accurately  the  extreme  bank  of  the  river.  They  took  this 
latter  and  longest  trail,  always,  in  order  more  closely  to 
examine  the  state  of  the  drive.  As  they  proceeded  upstream 
they  came  upon  more  and  more  logs,  some  floating  free,  more 
stranded  gently  along  the  banks.  After  a  time  they  encoun- 
tered the  first  of  the  driving  crew.  This  man  was  standing 
on  an  extreme  point,  leaning  on  his  peavy,  watching  the 
timbers  float  past.  Pretty  soon  several  logs,  held  together 
by  natural  cohesion,  floated  to  the  bend,  hesitated,  swung 
slowly  and  stopped.  Other  logs,  following,  carromed  gen- 
tly against  them  and  also  came  to  rest. 

Immediately  the  riverman  made  a  flying  leap  to  the  nearest. 
He  hit  it  with  a  splash  that  threw  the  water  high  to  either  side, 
immediately  caught  his  equilibrium,  and  set  to  work  with  his 
peavy.  He  seemed  to  know  just  where  to  bend  his  efforts. 
Two,  then  three,  logs,  disentangled  from  the  mass,  floated 
away.  Finally,  all  moved  slowly  forward.  The  riverman 
intent  on  his  work,  was  swept  from  view. 

"After  he  gets  them  to  running  free,  he'll  come  ashore," 
said  Welton,  in  answer  to  Bob's  query.  "Oh,  just  paddle 
ashore  with  his  peavy.  Then  he'll  come  back  up  the  trail. 
This  bend  is  liable  to  jam,  and  so  we  have  to  keep  a  man 
here." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  75 

They  walked  on  and  on,  up  the  trail.  Every  once  in  a 
while  they  came  upon  other  members  of  the  jam  crew, 
either  watching,  as  was  the  first  man,  at  some  critical  point, 
or  working  in  twos  and  threes  to  keep  the  reluctant  timbers 
always  moving.  At  one  place  six  or  eight  were  picking 
away  busily  at  a  jam  that  had  formed  bristling  quite  across 
the  river.  Bob  would  have  liked  to  stop  to  watch;  but 
Welton's  practised  eye  saw  nothing  to  it. 

"They're  down  to  the  key  log,  now,"  he  pronounced. 
"They'll  have  it  out  in  a  jiffy." 

Inside  of  two  miles  or  so  farther  they  left  behind  them 
the  last  member  of  the  jam  crew  and  came  upon  an  outlying 
scout  of  the  "rear."  Then  Wei  ton  began  to  take  the  shorter 
trails.  At  the  end  of  another  half-hour  the  two  plumped 
into  the  full  activity  of  the  rear  itself. 

Bob  saw  two  crews  of  men,  one  on  either  bank,  busily 
engaged  in  restoring  to  the  current  the  logs  stranded  along 
the  shore.  In  some  cases  this  merely  meant  pushing  them 
afloat  by  means  of  the  peavies.  Again,  when  the  timbers 
had  gone  hard  aground,  they  had  to  be  rolled  over  and  over 
until  the  deeper  water  caught  them.  In  extreme  cases,  when 
evidently  the  freshet  water  had  dropped  away  from  them, 
leaving  them  high  and  dry,  a  number  of  men  would  clamp 
on  the  jaws  of  their  peavies  and  carry  the  logs  bodily  to  the 
water.  In  this  active  work  the  men  were  everywhere  across 
the  surface  of  the  river.  They  pushed  and  heaved  from 
the  instability  of  the  floating  logs  as  easily  as  though  they 
had  possessed  beneath  their  feet  the  advantages  of  solid 
land.  When  they  wanted  to  go  from  one  place  to  another 
across  the  clear  water  they  had  various  methods  of  propel- 
ling themselves — either  broad  on,  by  rolling  the  log  treadwise, 
or  endways  by  paddling,  or  by  jumping  strongly  on  one  end. 
The  logs  dipped  and  bobbed  and  rolled  beneath  them; 
the  water  flowed  over  their  feet;  but  always  they  seemed 
to  maintain  their  balance  unconsciously,  and  to  give  their 
whole  attention  to  the  work  in  hand.  They  worked  as  far 


76  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

as  possible  from  the  decks  of  logs,  but  did  not  hesitate, 
when  necessary,  to  plunge  even  waist-deep  into  the  icy  cur- 
rent. Behind  them  they  left  a  clear  river. 

Like  most  exhibitions  of  superlative  skill,  all  this  would 
have  seemed  to  an  uninitiated  observer  like  Bob  an  easy  task, 
were  it  not  for  the  misfortunes  of  one  youth.  That  boy  was 
about  half  the  time  in  the  water.  He  could  stand  upright 
on  a  log  very  well  as  long  as  he  tried  to  do  nothing  else.  This 
partial  skill  undoubtedly  had  lured  him  to  the  drive.  But 
as  soon  as  he  tried  to  work,  he  was  in  trouble.  The  log 
commenced  to  roll;  he  to  struggle  for  his  balance.  It  always 
ended  with  a  mighty  splash  and  a  shout  of  joy  from  every 
one  in  sight,  as  the  unfortunate  youth  soused  in  all  over. 
Then,  after  many  efforts,  he  dragged  himself  out,  his  gar- 
ments heavy  and  dripping,  and  cautiously  tried  to  gain  the 
perpendicular.  This  ordinarily  required  several  attempts, 
each  of  which  meant  another  ducking  as  the  treacherous  log 
rolled  at  just  the  wrong  instant.  The  boy  was  game, 
though,  and  kept  at  it  earnestly  in  spite  of  repeated  failure. 

Welton  watched  two  repetitions  of  this  performance. 

"Dick!"  he  roared  across  the  tumult  of  sound. 

Roaring  Dick,  whose  light,  active  figure  had  been  seen 
everywhere  across  the  logs,  looked  up,  recognized  Welton, 
and  zigzagged  skilfully  ashore.  He  stamped  the  water 
from  his  shoes. 

"Why  don't  you  fire  that  kid  ashore?"  demanded  Welton. 
"Do  you  want  to  drown  him?  He's  so  cold  now  he  don't 
know  where's  his  feet?" 

Roaring  Dick  glanced  carelessly  at  the  boy.  The  latter 
had  succeeded  in  gaining  the  shallows,  where  he  was  try- 
ing to  roll  over  a  stranded  log.  His  hands  were  purple  and 
swollen;  his  face  puffed  and  blue;  violent  shivers  shook  him 
from  head  to  foot;  his  teeth  actually  chattered  when,  for  a 
moment,  he  relaxed  his  evident  intention  to  stick  it  through 
without  making  a  sign.  All  his  movements  were  slow  and 
awkward,  and  his  dripping  clothes  clung  tight  to  his  body. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  77 

"Oh,  him!"  said  Roaring  Dick  in  reply.  "I  didn't  pay 
no  more  attention  to  him  than  to  one  of  these  yere  hell 
divers.  He  ain't  no  good,  so  I  clean  overlooked  him.  Here, 
you!"  he  cried  suddenly. 

The  boy  looked  up,  Bob  saw  him  start  convulsively,  and 
knew  that  he  had  met  the  impact  of  that  peculiar  dynamic 
energy  in  Roaring  Dick's  nervous  face.  He  clambered 
laboriously  from  the  shallows,  the  water  draining  from 
the  bottom  of  his  "stagged"  trousers. 

"Get  to  camp,"  snapped  Dick.     "You're  laid  off." 

"  Why  did  you  ever  take  such  a  man  on  in  the  first  place  ?" 
asked  Wei  ton. 

"He  was  here  when  I  come,"  replied  Roaring  Dick, 
indifferently,  "and,  anyway,  he's  bound  he's  goin  to  be  a 
river-hog.  You  couldn't  keep  him  out  with  a  fly-screen." 

"How're  things  going?"  inquired  Welton. 

"All  right,"  said  Roaring  Dick.  "This  ain't  no  drive 
to  have  things  goin'  wrong.  A  man  could  run  a  hand-organ, 
a  quiltin'  party  and  this  drive  all  to  once  and  never  drop  a 
stitch." 

"  How  about  old  Murdock's  dam  ?  Looks  like  he  might 
make  trouble." 

"  Ain't  got  to  old  Murdock  yet,"  said  Roaring  Dick.  "  When 
we  do,  we'll  trim  his  whiskers  to  pattern.  Don't  you  worry 
none  about  Murdock." 

"  I  don't,"  laughed  Welton.  "  But,  Dick,  what  are  all  these 
deadheads  I  see  in  the  river?  Our  logs  are  all  marked, 
aren't  they?" 

"They's  been  some  jobbing  done  way  below  our  roll- 
ways,"  said  Roaring  Dick,  "and  the  mossbacks  have  been 
taking  'em  out  long  before  our  drive  got  this  far.  Them 
few  deadheads  we've  picked  up  along  the  line;  mossbacks  left 
'em  stranded.  They  ain't  very  many." 

"I'll  send  up  a  marking  hammer,  and  we'll  brand  them. 
Finders  keepers." 

"  Sure,"  said  Roaring  Dick. 


78  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

He  nodded  and  ran  out  over  the  logs.  The  work  leaped. 
Wherever  he  went  the  men  took  hold  as  though  reanimated 
by  an  electric  current. 

"Dick's  a  driver,"  said  Welton,  reflectively,  "and  he  gets  out 
the  logs.  But  I'm  scared  he  don't  take  this  little  job  serious." 

He  looked  out  over  the  animated  scene  for  a  moment  in 
silence.  Then  he  seemed  suddenly  to  remember  his  com- 
panion. 

"Well,  son,"  said  he,  "that's  called  'sacking'  the  river. 
The  rear  crew  is  the  place  of  honour,  let  me  tell  you.  The 
old  timers  used  to  take  a  great  pride  in  belonging  to  a  crack 
rear  on  a  big  drive.  When  you  get  one  side  of  the  river 
working  against  the  other,  it's  great  fun.  I've  seen  some 
fine  races  in  my  day." 

At  this  moment  two  men  swung  up  the  river  trail,  bend- 
ing to  the  broad  tump  lines  that  crossed  the  tops  of  their 
heads.  These  tump  lines  supported  rather  bulky  wooden 
boxes  running  the  lengths  of  the  men's  backs.  Arrived  at  the 
rear,  they  deposited  their  burdens.  One  set  to  building  a 
fire;  the  other  to  unpacking  from  the  boxes  all  the  untensils 
and  receptacles  of  a  hearty  meal.  The  food  was  contained 
in  big  lard  tins.  It  was  only  necessary  to  re-heat  it.  In 
ten  minutes  the  usual  call  of  "grub  pile"  rang  out  across  the 
river.  The  men  came  ashore.  Each  group  of  five  or  six  built 
its  little  fire.  The  wind  sucked  aloft  these  innumerable  tiny 
smokes,  and  scattered  them  in  a  thin  mist  through  the  trees. 

Welton  stayed  to  watch  the  sacking  until  after  three 
o'clock.  Then  he  took  up  the  river  trail  to  the  rear  camp. 
This  Bob  found  to  be  much  like  the  other,  but  larger. 

"Ordinarily  on  drive  we  have  a  wanigan,"  said  Welton. 
"A  wanigan's  a  big  scow.  It  carries  the  camp  and  supplies 
to  follow  the  drive.  Here  we  use  teams;  and  it's  some  of  a 
job,  let  me  tell  you!  The  roads  are  bad,  and  sometimes  it's  a 
long  ways  around.  Hard  sledding,  isn't  it  Billy  ?  "  he  inquired 
of  the  teamster,  who  was  warming  his  hands  by  the  fire. 

"Well,  I  always  get  there,"  the  latter  replied  with  some 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  79 

pride.  "From  the  Little  Fork  here  I  only  tipped  over  six 
times,  all  told." 

The  cook,  who  had  been  listening  near  by,  grunted. 

"Only  time  I  wasn't  with  you,  Billy,"  said  he;  " that's 
why  you  got  the  nerve  to  tell  that!" 

"It's  a  fact!"  insisted  the  driver. 

The  young  fellow  who  had  been  ordered  off  the  river  sat 
alone  by  the  drying-fire.  Now  that  he  had  warmed  up  and 
dried  off,  he  was  seen  to  be  a  rather  good-looking  boy,  dark- 
skinned,  black-eyed,  with  overhanging,  thick,  straight  brows, 
like  a  line  from  temple  to  temple.  These  gave  him  either 
the  sullen,  biding  look  of  an  Indian  or  an  air  of  set  deter- 
mination, as  the  observer  pleased.  Just  now  he  contemplated 
the  fire  rather  gloomily. 

Welton  sat  down  on  the  same  log  with  him. 

"Well,  bub,"  said  the  old  riverman  good-naturedly,  "so 
you  thought  you'd  like  to  be  a  riverman?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  boy,  with  a  certain  sullen  reserve. 

"Where  did  you  think  you  learned  to  ride  a  log?" 

"I've  been  around  a  little  at  the  booms." 

"I  see.  Well,  it's  a  different  proposition  when  you  come 
to  working  on  'em  in  fast  water." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Where  you  from?" 

"  Down  Greenville  way." 

"Farm?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Back  to  the  farm  now,  eh?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"  Don't  like  the  notion,  eh?" 

"No!"  cried  the  boy,  with  a  flash  of  passion. 

"  Still  like  to  tackle  the  river?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  young  fellow,  again  encased  in  his 
sullen  apathy. 

"If  I  send  you  back  to-morrow,  would  you  like  to  tackle 
it  again?" 


8o  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  the  boy  eagerly.  "I  didn't  have  any 
sort  of  a  show  when  you  saw  me  to-day!  I  can  do  a  heap 
better  than  that.  I  was  froze  through  and  couldn't  handle 
myself." 

Welton  grinned. 

"What  you  so  stuck  on  getting  wet  for?"  he  inquired. 

"I  dunno,"  replied  the  boy  vaguely.  "I  just  like  the 
woods." 

"Well,  I  got  no  notion  of  drownding  you  off  in  the  first 
white  water  we  come  across,"  said  Welton;  "but  I  tell  you 
what  to  do:  you  wait  around  here  a  few  days,  helping  the 
cook  or  Billy  there,  and  I'll  take  you  down  to  the  mill  and 
put  you  on  the  booms  where  you  can  practise  in  still  water 
with  a  pike-pole,  and  can  go  warm  up  in  the  engine  room 
when  you  fall  off.  Suit  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  Thank  you,"  said  the  boy  quietly;  but  there 
was  a  warm  glow  in  his  eye. 

By  now  it  was  nearly  dark. 

"Guess  we'll  bunk  here  tonight,"  Welton  told  Bob 
casually. 

Bob  looked  his  dismay. 

"Why,  I  left  everything  down  at  the  other  camp,"  he 
cried,  "even  my  tooth  brush  and  hair  brush!" 

Welton  looked  at  him  comically. 

"Me,  too,"  said  he.  "We  won't  neither  of  us  be  near  as 
much  trouble  to  ourselves  to-morrow,  will  we?" 

So  he  had  overheard  the  riverman's  remark  that  morning. 
Bob  laughed. 

"That's  right,"  approved  Welton,  "take  it  easy.  Neces- 
sities is  a  great  comfort,  but  you  can  do  without  even  them." 

After  supper  all  sprawled  around  a  fire.  Welton' s  big 
bulk  extended  in  the  acme  of  comfort.  He  puffed  his  pipe 
straight  up  toward  the  stars,  and  swore  gently  from  time  to 
time  when  the  ashes  dropped  back  into  his  eyes. 

"Now  that's  a  good  kid,"  he  said,  waving  a  pipe  toward 
the  other  fire  where  the  would-be  riverman  was  helping  wash 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  81 

the  dishes.  "He'll  never  be  a  first-class  riverman,  but  he's 
a  good  kid." 

"Why  won't  he  make  a  good  riverman?"  asked  Bob. 

"Same  reason  you  wouldn't,"  said  Welton  bluntly.  "A 
good  white  water  man  has  to  start  younger.  Besides,  what's 
the  use?  There  won't  be  any  rivermen  ten  year  from  now. 
Say,  you,"  he  raised  his  voice  peremptorily,  "what  do  you 
call  yourself?" 

The  boy  looked  up  startled,  saw  that  he  was  indicated, 
stammered,  and  caught  his  voice. 

"John  Harvey,  sir,"  he  replied. 

"  Son  of  old  John  who  used  to  be  on  the  Marquette  back 
in  the  seventies?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I  suppose  so." 

"He  ought  to  be  a  good  kid:  he  comes  of  good  stock," 
muttered  Welton;  "but  he'll  never  be  a  riverman.  No  use 
trying  to  shove  that  shape  peg  in  a  round  hole!" 


XIV 

NEAR  noon  of  the  following  day  a  man  came  upstream 
to  report  a  jam  beyond  the  powers  of  the  outlying 
rivermen.  Roaring  Dick,  after  a  short  absence  for 
examination,  returned  to  call  off  the  rear.  All  repaired 
to  the  scene  of  obstruction. 

Bob  noticed  the  slack  water  a  mile  or  so  above  the  jam. 
The  river  was  quite  covered  with  logs  pressed  tight  against 
each  other  by  the  force  of  the  interrupted  current,  but  still 
floating.  A  little  farther  along  the  increasing  pressure  had 
lifted  some  of  them  clear  of  the  water.  They  upended 
slightly,  or  lay  in  hollows  between  the  others.  Still  farther 
downstream  the  salient  features  of  a  jam  multiplied.  More 
timbers  stuck  out  at  angles  from  the  surface;  some  were  even 
lifted  bodily.  An  abattis  formed,  menacing  and  formidable, 
against  which  even  the  mighty  dynamics  of  the  river  pushed 
in  vain.  Then  at  last  the  little  group  arrived  at  the  "  breast" 
itself  —  a  sullen  and  fearful  tangle  like  a  gigantic  pile  of 
jackstraws.  Beneath  it  the  diminished  river  boiled  out 
angrily.  By  the  very  fact  of  its  lessened  volume  Bob  could 
guess  at  the  pressure  above.  Immediately  the  rivermen 
ran  out  on  this  tangle,  and,  after  a  moment  devoted  to 
inspection,  set  to  work  with  their  peavies.  Bob  started  to 
follow,  but  Welton  held  him  back. 

"It's  dangerous  for  a  man  not  used  to  it.  The  jam  may 
go  out  at  any  time,  and  when  she  goes,  she  goes  sky-hooting." 

But  in  the  event  his  precaution  turned  out  useless.  All 
day  the  men  rolled  logs  into  the  current  below  the  dam. 
The  click!  clank!  clank!  of  their  peavies  sounded  like  the 
valves  of  some  great  engine,  so  regular  was  the  periodicity 

82 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  83 

of  their  metallic  recurrence.  They  made  quite  a  hole  in  the 
breast;  and  several  times  the  jam  shrugged,  creaked  and 
settled,  but  always  to  a  more  solid  look.  Billy,  the  team- 
ster, brought  down  his  horses.  By  means  of  long  blocks 
and  tackle  they  set  to  yanking  out  logs  from  certain  places 
specified  by  Roaring  Dick.  Still  the  jam  proved  obstinate. 

"I  hate  to  do  it,"  said  Roaring  Dick  to  Welton;  "but  it's 
a  case  of  powder." 

"Tie  into  it,"  agreed  Welton.  "What's  a  few  smashed 
logs  compared  to  hanging  the  drive?" 

Dick  nodded.  He  picked  up  a  little  canvas  lunch  bag 
from  a  stump  where,  earlier  in  the  day,  he  had  hung  it,  and 
from  it  extracted  several  sticks  of  giant  powder,  a  length  of 
fuse  and  several  caps.  These  he  prepared.  Then  he  and 
Welton  walked  out  over  the  jam,  examining  it  carefully, 
and  consulting  together  at  length.  Finally  Roaring  Dick 
placed  his  charge  far  down  in  the  interstices,  lit  the  fuse 
and  walked  calmly  ashore.  The  men  leisurely  placed  them- 
selves out  of  harm's  way.  Welton  joined  Bob  behind  a  big 
burned  stub. 

"Will  that  start  her  sure?", asked  Bob. 

"Depends  on  whether  we  guessed  right  on  the  key  log," 
said  Welton. 

A  great  roar  shook  the  atmosphere.  Straight  up  into  the 
air  spurted  the  cloud  of  the  explosion.  Through  the  white 
smoke  Bob  could  see  the  flame  and  four  or  five  big  logs, 
like  upleaping,  dim  giants.  Then  he  dodged  back  from  the 
rain  of  bark  and  splinters. 

The  immediate  effect  on  the  jam  was  not  apparent.  It 
fell  forward  into  the  opening  made  by  the  explosion,  and  a 
light  but  perceptible  movement  ran  through  the  waiting 
timbers  up  the  river.  But  the  men,  running  out  immediately, 
soon  made  it  evident  that  the  desired  result  had  been  attained. 
Their  efforts  now  seemed  to  gain  definite  effects.  An  uneasi- 
ness ran  through  the  hitherto  solid  structure  of  the  jam. 
1'imbers  changed  position.  Sometimes  the  whole  river 


84  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

seemed  to  start  forward  a  foot  or  so,  but  before  the  eye  could 
catch  the  motion,  it  had  again  frozen  to  immobility. 

"That  fetched  the  key  logs,  all  right,"  said  Welton,  watch- 
ing. 

Then  all  at  once  about  half  the  breast  of  the  jam  fell  for- 
ward into  the  stream.  Bob  uttered  an  involuntary  cry.  But 
the  practised  rivermen  must  have  foreseen  this,  for  none 
was  caught.  At  once  the  other  logs  at  the  breast  began 
to  topple  of  their  own  accord  into  the  stream.  The  splashes 
threw  the  water  high  like  the  explosions  of  shells,  and  the 
thundering  of  the  falling  and  grinding  timbers  resembled  the 
roar  of  artillery.  The  pattern  of  the  river  changed,  at  first 
almost  imperceptibly,  then  more  and  more  rapidly.  The 
logs  in  the  centre  thrust  forward,  those  on  the  wings  hung 
back.  Near  the  head  of  the  jam  the  men  worked  like 
demons.  Wherever  the  timbers  caught  or  hesitated  for  a 
moment  in  their  slow  crushing  forward,  there  a  dozen  men 
leaped  savagely,  to  jerk,  heave  and  pry  with  their  heavy 
peavies.  Continually  under  them  the  footing  shifted;  sullen 
logs  menaced  them  with  crushing  or  complete  engulfment 
in  their  grinding  mill.  Seemingly  they  paid  no  attention  to 
this,  but  gave  all  their  energies  to  the  work.  In  reality, 
whether  from  calculation  or  merely  from  the  instinct  that 
grows  out  of  long  experience,  they  must  have  pre-estimated 
every  chance. 

"  What  bully  team  work! "  cried  Bob,  stirred  to  enthusiasm. 

Now  the  motion  quickened.  The  centre  of  the  river 
rushed  forward;  the  wings  sucked  in  after  from  either  side. 
A  roar  and  battling  of  timbers,  jets  of  spray,  the  smoke  of 
waters  filled  the  air.  Quite  coolly  the  rivermen  made  their 
way  ashore,  their  peavies  held  like  balancing  poles  across 
their  bodies.  Under  their  feet  the  logs  heaved,  sank, 
ground  together,  tossed  above  the  hurrying  under-mass, 
tumultuous  as  a  close-packed  drove  of  wild  horses.  The 
rivermen  rode  them  easily.  For  an  appreciable  time  one 
man  perched  on  a  stable  timber  watching  keenly  ahead. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  85 

Then  quite  coolly  he  leaped,  made  a  dozen  rapid  zigzag  steps 
forward,  and  stopped.  The  log  he  had  quitted  dropped 
sullenly  from  sight,  and  two  closed,  grinding,  where  it  had 
been.  In  twenty  seconds  every  man  was  safely  ashore. 

The  river  caught  its  speed.  Hurried  on  by  the  pressure 
of  water  long  (lammed  back,  the  logs  tumbled  forward. 
Rank  after  rank  they  swept  past,  while  the  rivermen,  lean- 
ing on  the  shafts  of  their  peavies,  passed  them  in  review. 

"That  was  luck,"  Welton's  voice  broke  in  on  Bob's  con- 
templation. "It's  just  getting  dark.  Couldn't  have  done 
it  without  the  dynamite.  It  splinters  up  a  little  timber, 
but  we  save  money,  even  at  that." 

"Billy  doesn't  carry  that  with  the  other  supplies,  does  he?' 
asked  Bob. 

"Sure,"  said  Welton;  "rolls  it  up  in  the  bedding,  ot 
something.  Well,  John  Harvey,  Junior,"  said  he  to  that 
youth,  "what  do  you  think  of  it?  A  little  different  driving 
this  white  water  than  pushing  logs  with  a  pike  pole  down  a 
slack-water  river  like  the  Green,  hey?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  boy  nodded  out   of    his  Indian  stolidity. 

"You  see  now  why  a  man  has  to  start  young  to  be  a  river- 
man,"  Welton  told  Bob,  as  they  bent  their  steps  toward  camp. 
"Poor  little  John  Harvey  out  on  that  jam  when  she  broke 
would  have  stood  about  as  much  chance  as  a  beetle  at  a 
woodpecker  prayer  meeting." 


XV 

TWO  days  later  Welton  returned  to  the  mill.  At  his 
suggestion  Bob  stayed  with  the  drive.  He  took 
his  place  quietly  as  a  visitor,  had  the  good  sense  to 
be  unobtrusive,  and  so  was  tolerated  by  the  men.  That  is 
to  say,  he  sat  at  the  camp  fires  practically  unnoticed,  and  the 
rivermen  talked  as  though  he  were  not  there.  When  he 
addressed  any  of  them  they  answered  him  with  entire  good 
humour,  but  ordinarily  they  paid  no  more  attention  to  him 
than  they  did  to  the  trees  and  bushes  that  chanced  to  sur- 
round the  camp. 

The  drive  moved  forward  slowly.  Sometimes  Billy 
packed  up  every  day  to  set  forth  on  one  of  his  highly  adven- 
turous drives;  again  camp  stayed  for  some  time  in  the  same 
place.  Bob  amused  himself  tramping  up  and  down  the 
river,  reviewing  the  operations.  Occasionally  Roaring  Dick, 
in  his  capacity  of  river  boss,  accompanied  the  young  fellow. 
Why,  Bob  could  not  imagine,  for  the  alert,  self-contained 
little  riverman  trudged  along  in  almost  entire  silence,  his 
keen  chipmunk  eyes  spying  restlessly  on  all  there  was  to 
be  seen.  When  Bob  ventured  a  remark  or  comment,  he 
answered  by  a  grunt  or  a  monosyllable.  The  grunt  or  the 
monosyllable  was  never  sullen  or  hostile  or  contemptuous; 
merely  indifferent.  Bob  learned  to  economize  speech,  and 
so  got  along  well  with  his  strange  companion. 

By  the  end  of  the  week  the  drive  entered  a  cleared  farm 
country.  The  cultivation  was  crude  and  the  clearing  par- 
tial. Low-wooded  hills  dotted  with  stumps  of  the  old  forest 
alternated  with  willow-grown  bottom-lands  and  dense 
swamps.  The  farmers  lived  for  the  most  part  in  slab  or  log 

86 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  87 

houses  earthed  against  the  winter  cold.  Fences  were  of  split 
rails  laid  "snake  fashion."  Ploughing  had  to  be  in  and  out 
between  the  blackened  stumps  on  the  tops  of  which  were 
piled  the  loose  rocks  picked  from  the  soil  as  the  share  turned 
them  up.  Long,  unimproved  roads  wandered  over  the  hills, 
following  roughly  the  section  lines,  but  perfectly  willing  to 
turn  aside  through  some  man's  field  in  order  to  avoid  a 
steep  grade  or  soft  going.  These  things  the  rivermen  saw 
from  their  stream  exactly  as  a  trainman  would  see  them  from 
his  right-of-way.  The  river  was  the  highway,  and  rarely 
was  it  considered  worth  while  to  climb  the  low  bluffs  out  of 
the  bottom-land  through  which  it  flowed. 

In  the  long  run  it  landed  them  in  a  town  named  Twin 
Falls.  Here  were  a  water-power  dam  and  some  small  manu- 
factories. Here,  too,  were  saloons  and  other  temptations  for 
rivermen.  Camp  was  made  above  town.  In  the  evening 
the  men,  with  but  few  exceptions,  turned  in  to  the  sleeping 
tent  at  the  usual  hour.  Bob  was  much  surprised  at  this; 
but  later  he  came  to  recognize  it  as  part  of  a  riverman's  pecu- 
liar code.  Until  the  drive  should  be  down,  he  did  not  feel 
himself  privileged  to  "blow  off  steam. "  Even  the  excep- 
tions did  not  get  so  drunk  they  could  not  show  up  the  follow- 
ing morning  to  take  a  share  in  sluicing  the  drive  through  the 
dam. 

All  but  Roaring  Dick.  The  latter  did  not  appear  at  all, 
and  was  reported  "drunk  a-plenty"  by  some  one  who  had 
seen  him  early  that  morning.  Evidently  the  river  boss  did 
not  "take  this  drive  serious."  His  absence  seemed  to  make 
no  difference.  The  sluicing  went  forward  methodically. 

"He'll  show  up  hi  a  day  or  two,"  said  the  cook  with  entire 
indifference,  when  Bob  inquired  of  him. 

That  evening,  however,  four  or  five  of  the  men  disappeared, 
and  did  not  return.  Such  was  the  effect  of  an  evil  example 
on  the  part  of  the  foreman.  Larsen  took  charge.  In 
almost  unbroken  series  the  logs  shot  through  the  sluiceways 
into  the  river  below,  where  they  were  received  by  the  jam 


88  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

crew  and  started  on  the  next  stage  of  their  long  journey  to  the 
mills.  In  a  day  the  dam  was  passed.  One  of  the  younger 
men  rode  the  last  log  through  the  sluiceway,  standing  upright 
as  it  darted  down  the  chute  into  the  eddy  below.  The 
crowd  of  townspeople  cheered.  The  boy  waved  his  hat  and 
birled  the  log  until  the  spray  flew. 

But  hardly  was  camp  pitched  two  miles  below  town  when 
one  of  the  jam  crew  came  upstream  to  report  a  difficulty. 
Larsen  at  once  made  ready  to  accompany  him  down  the  river 
trail,  and  Bob,  out  of  curiosity,  went  along,  too. 

"It's  mossbacks,"  the  messenger  explained,  "and  them 
deadheads  we  been  carrying  along.  They've  rigged  up  a 
little  sawmill  down  there,  where  they're  cutting  what  the 
farmers  haul  in  to  'em.  And  then,  besides,  they've  planted 
a  bunch  of  piles  right  out  in  the  middle  of  the  stream  and 
boomed  in  their  side,  and  they're  out  there  with  pike-poles, 
nailin'  onto  every  stick  of  deadhead  that  comes  along." 

"Well,  that's  all  right,"  said  Larsen.  "I  guess  they  got 
a  right  to  them  as  long  as  we  ain't  marked  them." 

"They  can  have  their  deadheads,"  agreed  the  riverman, 
"but  their  piles  have  jammed  our  drive  and  hung  her." 

"We'll  break  the  jam,"  said  Larsen. 

Arrived  at  the  scene  of  difficulty,  Bob  looked  about  him 
with  great  interest.  The  jam  was  apparently  locked  hard 
and  fast  against  a  clump  of  piles  driven  about  in  the  centre  of 
the  stream.  These  had  evidently  been  planted  as  the  ex- 
treme outwork  of  a  long  shunting  boom.  Men  working  there 
could  shunt  into  the  sawmill  enclosure  that  portion  of  the 
drive  to  which  they  could  lay  claim.  The  remainder  could 
proceed  down  the  open  channel  to  the  left.  That  was  the 
theory.  Unfortunately,  this  division  of  the  river's  width 
so  congested  matters  that  the  whole  drive  had  hung. 

The  jam  crew  were  at  work,  but  even  Bob's  unpractised 
eye  saw  that  their  task  was  stupendous.  Even  should  they 
succeed  in  loosening  the  breast,  there  could  be  no  reason  to 
suppose  the  performance  would  not  have  to  be  repeated 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  89 

over  and  over  again  as  the  close-ranked  drive  came  against 
the  obstacle. 

Larsen  took  one  look,  then  made  his  way  across  to  the 
other  side  and  down  to  the  mill.  Bob  followed.  The  little 
sawmill  was  going  full  blast  under  the  handling  of  three  men 
and  a  boy.  Everything  was  done  in  the  most  primitive 
manner,  by  main  strength,  awkwardness,  and  old-fashioned 
tools. 

"Who's  boss?"  yelled  Larsen  against  the  clang  of  the 
mill. 

A  slow,  black-bearded  man  stepped  forward. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  he  asked. 

"Our  drive's  hung  up  against  your  boom,"  yelled  Larsen. 

The  man  raised  his  hand  and  the  machinery  was  suddenly 
stilled. 

"So  I  perceive,"  said  he. 

"Your  boom-piles  are  drove  too  far  out  in  the  stream." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  objected  the  mossback. 

"I  do,"  insisted  Larsen.  "Nobody  on  earth  could  keep 
from  jamming,  the  way  you  got  things  fixed." 

"That's  none  of  my  business,"  said  the  man  steadily. 

"Well,  we'll  have  to  take  out  that  fur  clump  of  piles  to 
get  our  jam  broke." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  repeated  the  man. 

Larsen  apparently  paid  no  attention  to  this  last  remark, 
but  tramped  back  to  the  jam.  There  he  ordered  a  couple  of 
men  out  with  axes,  and  others  with  tackle.  But  at  that 
moment  the  three  men  and  the  boy  appeared.  They  car- 
ried three  shotguns  and  a  rifle. 

"That's  about  enough  of  that,"  said  the  bearded  man, 
quietly.  "You  let  my  property  alone.  I  don't  want  any 
trouble  with  you  men,  but  I'll  blow  hell  out  of  the  first  man 
that  touches  those  piles.  I've  had  about  enough  of  this  river- 
hog  monkey-work." 

He  looked  as  though  he  meant  business,  as  did  his  com- 
panions. When  the  river  men  drew  back,  he  took  his  position 


go  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

atop  the  disputed  clump  of  piles,  his  shotgun  across  his 
knees. 

The  driving  crew  retreated  ashore.  Larsen  was  plainly 
uncertain. 

"I  tell  you,  boys,"  said  he,  "I'll  get  back  to  town.  You 
wait." 

"  Guess  I'll  go  along,"  suggested  Bob,  determined  to  miss 
no  phase  of  this  new  species  of  warfare. 

"  What  you  going  to  do  ?"  he  asked  Larsen  when  they  were 
once  on  the  trail. 

"I  don't  know,"  confessed  the  older  man,  rubbing  his  cap. 
"I'm  just  goin'  to  see  some  lawyer,  and  then  I'm  goin'  to 
telegraph  the  Company.  I  wish  Darrell  was  in  charge.  I 
don't  know  what  to  do.  You  can't  expect  those  boys  to  run 
a  chance  of  gittin'  a  hole  in  'em." 

"Do  you  believe  they'd  shoot?"  asked  Bob. 

"I  believe  so.     It's  a  long  chance,  anyhow." 

But  in  Twin  Falls  they  received  scant  sympathy  and 
encouragement.  The  place  was  distinctly  bucolic,  and  as 
such  opposed  instinctively  to  larger  mills,  big  millmen,  lum- 
ber, lumbermen  and  all  pertaining  thereunto.  They  tolerated 
the  drive  because,  in  the  first  place  they  had  to;  and  in  the 
second  place  there  was  some  slight  profit  to  be  made.  But 
the  rough  rivermen  antagonized  them,  and  they  were  never 
averse  to  seeing  these  buccaneers  of  the  streams  in  diffi- 
culties. Then,  too,  by  chance  the  country  lawyers  Larsen 
consulted  happened  to  be  attorneys  for  the  little  sawmill 
men.  Larsen  tried  in  his  blundering  way  to  express  his 
feeling  that  "nobody  had  a  right  to  hang  our  drive."  His 
explanations  were  so  involved  and  futile  that,  without  think- 
ing, Bob  struck  in. 

"Surely  these  men  have  no  right  to  obstruct  as  they  do. 
Isn't  there  some  law  against  interfering  with  navigation?" 

"The  stream  is  not  navigable,"  returned  the  lawyer  curtly. 

Bob's  memory  vouchsafed  a  confused  recollection  of  some- 
thing read  sometime,  somewhere. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  91 

"Hasn't  a  stream  been  declared  navigable  when  logs  can 
be  driven  in  it?"  he  asked. 

"Are  you  in  charge  of  this  drive?"  the  lawyer  asked, 
turning  on  him  sharply. 

"Why  — no,"  confessed  Bob. 

"Have  you  anything  to  do  with  this  question?" 

"I  don't  believe  I  have." 

"  Then  I  fail  to  see  why  I  should  answer  your  questions," 
said  the  lawyer,  with  finality.  "As  to  your  question,"  he 
went  on  to  Larsen  with  equal  coldness,  "if  you  have  any 
doubts  as  to  Mr.  Murdock's  rights  in  the  stream,  you  have 
the  recourse  of  a  suit  at  law  to  settle  that  point,  and  to  deter- 
mine the  damages,  if  any." 

Bob  found  himself  in  the  street  with  Larsen. 

"  But  they  haven't  got  no  right  to  stop  our  drive  dead  that 
way,"  expostulated  the  old  man. 

Bob's  temper  was  somewhat  ruffled  by  his  treatment  at  the 
hands  of  the  lawyer. 

"Well,  they've  done  it,  whether  they  have  the  right  to 
or  not,"  he  said  shortly;  "what  next?" 

"I  guess  I'll  telegraph  Mr.  Welton,"  said  Larsen. 

He  did  so.  The  two  returned  to  camp.  The  rivermen 
were  loafing  in  camp  awaiting  Larsen's  reappearance.  The 
jam  was  as  before.  Larsen  walked  out  on  the  logs.  The 
boy,  seated  on  the  clump  of  piles,  gave  a  shrill  whistle. 
Immediately  from  the  little  mill  appeared  the  brown- 
bearded  man  and  his  two  companions.  They  picked  their 
way  across  the  jam  to  the  piles,  where  they  roosted,  their 
weapons  across  their  knees,  until  Larsen  had  returned  to 
the  other  bank. 

"Well,  Mr.  Welton  ought  to  be  up  in  a  couple  of  days, 
if  he  ain't  up  the  main  river  somewheres,"  said  Larsen. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  do  anything  in  the  meantime?'* 
asked  Bob. 

"What  can  I  do?"  countered  Larsen. 

The  crew  had  nothing  to  say  one  way  or  the  other,  but 


92  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

watched  with  a  cynical  amusement  the  progress  of  affairs. 
They  smoked,  and  spat,  and  squatted  on  their  heels  in  the 
Indian  taciturnity  of  their  kind  when  for  some  reason  they 
withhold  their  approval.  That  evening,  however,  Bob  hap- 
pened to  be  lying  at  the  campnre  next  two  of  the  older  men. 
As  usual,  he  smoked  in  unobtrusive  silence,  content  to  be 
ignored  if  only  the  men  would  act  in  their  accustomed  way, 
and  not  as  before  a  stranger. 

"Wait;  hell!"  said  one  of  the  men  to  the  other.  "Times 
is  certainly  gone  wrong!  If  they  had  anything  like  an  old- 
time  river  boss  in  charge,  they'd  come  the  Jack  Orde  on  this 
lay-out." 

Bob  pricked  up  his  ears  at  this  mention  of  his  father's 
name. 

"What's  that?  "he  asked. 

The  riverman  rolled  over  and  examined  him  dispassion- 
ately for  a  few  moments. 

"Jack  Orde,"  he  deigned  to  explain  at  last,  "was  a  river- 
man. He  was  a  good  one.  He  used  to  run  the  drive  in  the 
Redding  country.  When  he  started  to  take  out  logs,  he  took 
'em  out,  by  God!  I've  heard  him  often:  '  Get  your  logs  out 
first,  and  pay  the  damage  afterward,'  says  he.  He  was 
a  holy  terror.  They  got  the  state  troops  out  after  him  once. 
It  came  to  be  a  sort  of  by-word.  When  you  generally  gouge, 
kick  and  sandbag  a  man  into  bein'  real  good,  why  we  say  you 
come  the  Jack  Orde  on  him." 

"I  see,"  said  Bob,  vastly  amused  at  this  sidelight  on  the 
family  reputation.  "  What  would  you  do  here  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  the  riverman,  "but  I  wouldn't 
lay  around  and  wait." 

"Why  don't  some  of  you  fellows  go  out  there  and  storm 
the  fort,  if  you  feel  that  way?"  asked  Bob. 

"Why?"  demanded  the  riverman,  "I  won't  let  any  boss 
stump  me;  but  why  in  hell  should  I  go  out  and  get  my  hide 
full  of  birdshot?  If  this  outfit  don't  know  enough  to  get  its 
drive  down,  that  ain't  my  fault." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  93 

Bob  had  seen  enough  of  the  breed  to  recognize  this  as  an 
eminently  characteristic  attitude. 

"Well,"  he  remarked  comfortably,  "somebody'll  be  down 
from  the  mill  soon." 

The  riverman  turned  on  him  almost  savagely. 

"Down  soon!"  he  snorted.  "So'll  the  water  be  'down 
soon.'  It's  dropping  every  minute.  That  telegraft  of  yours 
won't  even  start  out  before  to-morrow  morning.  Don't  you 
fool  yourself.  That  Twin  Falls  outfit  is  just  too  tickled  to 
do  us  up.  It'll  be  two  days  before  anybody  shows  up,  and 
then  where  are  you  at ?  Hell!"  and  the  old  riverman  relapsed 
into  a  disgusted  silence. 

Considerably  perturbed,  Bob  hunted  up  Larsen. 

"  Look  here,  Larsen,"  said  he,  "  they  tell  me  a  delay  here  is 
likely  to  hang  up  this  drive.  Is  that  right?" 

The  old  man  looked  at  his  interlocutor,  his  brow  wrinkled. 

"I  wish  Darrell  was  in  charge,"  said  he. 

"What  would  Darrell  do  that  you  can't  do?"  demanded 
Bob  bluntly. 

"That's  just  it;  I  don't  know,"  confessed  Larsen. 

"Well,  I'd  get  some  weapons  up  town  and  drive  that  gang 
off,"  said  Bob  heatedly. 

"They'd  have  a  posse  down  and  jug  the  lot  of  us,"  Larsen 
pointed  out,  "before  we  could  clear  the  river."  He  suddenly 
flared  up.  "  I  ain't  no  river  boss,  and  I  ain't  paid  as  a  river 
boss,  and  I  never  claimed  to  be  one.  Why  in  hell  don't  they 
keep  their  men  in  charge?" 

"You're  working  for  the  company,  and  you  ought  to  do 
your  best  for  them/'  said  Bob. 

But  Larsen  had  abruptly  fallen  into  Scandinavian  sulks. 
He  muttered  something  under  his  breath,  and  quite  deliber- 
ately arose  and  walked  around  to  the  other  side  of  the  fire. 

Twice  during  the  night  Bob  arose  from  his  blankets  and 
walked  down  to  the  riverside.  In  the  clear  moonlight  he 
could  see  one  or  the  other  of  the  millmen  always  on  watch, 
his  shotgun  across  his  knees.  Evidently  they  did  not  intend 


94  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

to  be  surprised  by  any  night  work.  The  young  fellow  returned 
very  thoughtful  to  his  blankets,  where  he  lay  staring  up 
against  the  canvas  of  the  tent. 

Next  morning  he  was  up  early,  and  in  close  consultation 
with  Billy  the  teamster.  The  latter  listened  attentively  to 
what  Bob  had  to  say,  nodding  his  head  from  time  to  time. 
Then  the  two  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  wagon, 
where  for  a  long  interval  they  busied  themselves  at  some 
mysterious  operation. 

When  they  finally  emerged  from  the  bushes,  Bob  was  carry- 
ing over  his  shoulder  a  ten-foot  poplar  sapling  around  the 
end  of  which  was  fastened  a  cylindrical  bundle  of  consid- 
erable size.  Bob  paid  no  attention  to  the  men  about  the  fire, 
but  bent  his  steps  toward  the  river.  Billy,  however,  said  a 
few  delighted  words  to  the  sprawling  group.  It  arose  with 
alacrity  and  followed  the  young  man'«  lead. 

Arrived  at  the  bank  of  the  rivet,  Bob  swung  his  burden 
to  the  ground,  knelt  by  it,  and  lit  a  match.  The  rivermen, 
gathering  close,  saw  that  the  bundle  around  the  end  of  the 
sapling  consisted  of  a  dozen  rolls  of  giant  powder  from  which 
dangled  a  short  fuse.  Bob  touched  his  match  to  the  split 
outer  end  of  the  fuse.  It  spluttered  viciously.  He  arose 
with  great  deliberation,  picked  up  his  strange  weapon,  and 
advanced  out  over  the  logs. 

In  the  meantime  the  opposing  army  had  gathered  about 
the  disputed  clump  of  piles,  to  the  full  strength  of  its  three 
shotguns  and  the  single  rifle.  Bob  paid  absolutely  no  atten- 
tion to  them.  When  within  a  short  distance  he  stopped 
and,  quite  oblivious  to  warnings  and  threats  from  the  army, 
set  himself  to  watching  painstakingly  the  sputtering  pro- 
gress of  the  fire  up  the  fuse,  exactly  as  a  small  boy  watches 
his  giant  cracker  which  he  hopes  to  explode  in  mid-air.  At 
what  he  considered  the  proper  moment  he  straightened 
his  powerful  young  body,  and  cast  the  sapling  from  him, 
javelin- wise. 

"Scat!"  he  shouted,  and  scrambled  madly  for  cover. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  95 

The  army  decamped  in  haste.  Of  its  armament  it  lost 
near  fifty  per  cent.,  for  one  shotgun  and  the  rifle  remained 
where  they  had  fallen.  Like  Abou  Ben  Adam,  Murdock  led 
all  the  rest. 

Now  Bob  had  hurled  his  weapon  as  hard  as  he  knew  how, 
and  had  scampered  for  safety  without  looking  to  see  where  it 
had  fallen.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  by  one  of  those  very  lucky 
accidents,  that  often  attend  a  star  in  the  ascendent,  the  sap- 
ling dove  head  on  into  a  cavern  in  the  jam  above  the  clump 
of  piles.  The  detonation  of  the  twelve  full  sticks  of  giant 
powder  was  terrific.  Half  the  river  leaped  into  the  air  in  a 
beautiful  column  of  water  and  spray  that  seemed  to  hang 
motionless  for  appreciable  moments.  Dark  fragments  of 
timbers  were  hurled  in  all  directions.  When  the  row  had 
died  the  clump  of  piles  was  seen  to  have  disappeared.  Bob's 
chance  shot  had  actually  cleared  the  river! 

The  rivermen  glanced  at  each  other  amazedly. 

"Did  you  mean  to  place  that  charge,  bub?"  one  asked. 

Bob  was  too  good  a  field  general  not  to  welcome  the  gifts 
of  chance. 

" Certainly,"  he  snapped.  "Now  get  out  on  that  river, 
every  mother's  son  of  you.  Get  that  drive  going  and  keep 
it  going.  I've  cleared  the  river  for  you;  and  if  you'd  any  one 
of  you  h/d  the  nerve  of  my  poor  old  fat  sub-centre,  you'd 
have  done  it  for  yourselves.  Get  busy!  Hop!" 

The  men  jumped  for  their  peavies.  Bob  raged  up  and 
down  the  bank.  For  the  moment  he  had  forgotten  the  husk 
of  the  situation,  and  saw  it  only  in  essential.  Here  was  a 
squad  to  lick  into  shape,  to  fashion  into  a  team.  It  mattered 
little  that  they  wore  spikes  in  their  boots  instead  of  cleats; 
that  they  sported  little  felt  hats  instead  of  head  guards.  The 
principle  was  the  same.  The  team  had  gone  to  pieces  in  the 
face  of  a  crisis;  discipline  was  relaxed;  grumblers  were  get- 
ting noisy.  Bob  plunged  joyously  head  over  ears  in  his  task. 
By  now  he  knew  every  man  by  name,  and  he  addressed  each 
personally.  He  had  no  idea  of  what  was  to  be  done  to  start 


96  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

this  riverful  of  logs  smoothly  and  surely  on  its  way;  he  did 
not  need  to.  Afloat  on  the  river  was  technical  knowledge 
enough,  and  to  spare.  Bob  threw  his  men  at  the  logs  as  he 
used  to  throw  his  backs  at  the  opposing  line.  And  they  went. 
Even  in  the  whole-souled,  frantic  absorption  of  the  good 
coach  he  found  time  to  wonder  at  the  likeness  of  all  men. 
These  rivermen  differed  in  no  essential  from  the  members  of 
the  squad.  They  responded  to  the  same  authority;  they 
could  be  hurled  as  a  unit  against  opposing  obstacles. 

Bob  felt  a  heavy  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  whirled  to  stare 
straight  into  the  bloodshot  eyes  of  Roaring  Dick.  The  man 
was  still  drunk,  but  only  with  the  lees  of  the  debauch.  He 
knew  perfectly  what  he  was  about,  but  the  bad  whiskey  still 
hummed  through  his  head.  Bob  met  the  baleful  glare  from 
under  his  square  brows,  as  the  man  teetered  back  and  forth 
on  his  heels. 

"You  got  a  hell  of  a  nerve!"  said  Roaring  Dick,  thickly. 
"You  talk  like  you  was  boss  of  this  river." 

Bob  looked  back*at  him  steadily  for  a  full  half-minute. 

"lam,"  said  he  at  last. 


XVI 

R DARING  Dick  had  not  been  brought  up  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  protocols  or  ultimatums.  Scarcely  had  Bob 
uttered  the  last  words  of  his  brief  speech  before  he 
was  hit  twice  in  the  face,  good  smashing  blows  that  sent  him 
staggering.  The  blows  were  followed  by  a  savage  rush, 
Roaring  Dick  was  on  his  man  with  the  quickness  and  fero- 
city of  a  wildcat.  He  hit,  kicked,  wrestled,  even  bit.  Bob 
was  whirled  back  by  the  very  impetuosity  of  the  attack. 
Before  he  could  collect  his  wits  he  was  badly  punished  and 
dazed.  He  tripped  and  Roaring  Dick,  with  a  bellow  oi 
satisfaction,  began  to  kick  at  his  body  even  before  he  reached 
the  ground. 

But  strangely  enough  this  fall  served  to  clear  Bob's  head. 
Thousands  of  times  he  had  gone  down  just  like  this  on  the 
football  field,  and  had  then  been  called  upon  to  struggle  on 
with  the  ball  as  far  as  he  was  able.  A  slight  hint  of  the 
accustomed  will  sometimes  steady  us  in  the  most  difficult 
positions.  The  mind,  bumping  aimlessly,  falls  into  its 
groove,  and  instinctively  shoots  forward  with  tremendous 
velocity.  Bob  hit  the  ground,  half  turned  on  his  shoulder, 
rolled  over  twice  with  the  rapid,  vigorous  twist  second- 
nature  to  a  seasoned  halfback,  and  bounded  to  his  feet. 
He  met  Roaring  Dick  half  way  with  a  straight  blow.  It 
failed  to  stop,  or  even  to  shake  the  little  riverman.  The 
next  instant  the  men  were  wrestling  fiercely. 

Bob  found  himself  surprisingly  opposed.  Beneath  his 
loose,  soft  clothing  the  riverman  seemed  to  be  made  of 
steel.  Suddenly  Bob  was  called  upon  to  exert  every  ounce  of 
strength  in  his  body,  and  to  summon  all  his  acquired  skill 

97 


98  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

to  prevent  himself  from  being  ignominiously  overpowered. 
The  ferocity  of  the  rush,  and  the  purposeful  rapidity  of 
Roaring  Dick's  attack,  as  well  as  the  unexpected  variety 
thereof,  kept  him  fully  occupied  in  defending  himself.  With 
the  exception  of  the  single  blow  delivered  when  he  had 
regained  his  feet,  he  had  been  unable  even  to  attempt  aggres- 
sion. It  was  as  though  he  had  touched  a  button  to  release 
an  astonishing  and  bewildering  erratic  energy. 

Bob  had  done  a  great  deal  of  boxing  and  considerable 
wrestling.  During  his  boyhood  and  youth  he  had  even 
become  involved  in  several  fisticuffs.  They  had  always 
been  with  the  boys  or  young  men  of  his  own  ideas.  Though 
conducted  in  anger  they  retained  still  a  certain  remnant 
of  convention.  No  matter  how  much  you  wanted  to  "do" 
the  other  fellow,  you  tried  to  accomplish  that  result  by  hit- 
ting cleanly,  or  by  wrestling  him  to  a  point  where  you  could 
"punch  his  face  in."  The  object  was  to  hurt  your  oppo- 
nent until  he  had  had  enough,  until  he  was  willing  to  quit, 
until  he  had  been  thoroughly  impressed  with  the  fact  that 
he  was  punished.  But  this  result  was  to  be  accomplished 
with  the  fists.  If  your  opponent  seized  a  club,  or  a  stone, 
or  tried  to  kick,  that  very  act  indicated  his  defeat.  He 
had  had  enough,  and  that  was  one  way  of  acknowledging 
your  superiority.  So  strongly  ingrained  had  this  instinct 
of  the  fight-convention  become  that  even  now  Bob  uncon- 
sciously was  playing  according  to  the  rules  of  the  game. 

Roaring  Dick,  on  the  contrary,  was  out  solely  for  results. 
He  fought  with  every  resource  at  his  command.  Bob  was 
slow  to  realize  this,  slow  to  arouse  himself  beyond  the  point 
of  calculated  defence.  His  whole  training  on  the  field 
inclined  him  to  keep  cool  and  to  play,  whatever  the  game, 
from  a  reasoning  standpoint.  He  was  young,  strong  and 
practised;  but  he  was  not  roused  above  the  normal.  And, 
as  many  rivermen  had  good  reason  to  know,  the  nor- 
mal man  availed  little  against  Roaring  Dick's  maniacal 
rushes. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  99 

The  men  were  close -locked,  and  tugging  and  straining 
for  an  advantage.  Bob  crouched  lower  and  lower  with  a 
well-defined  notion  of  getting  a  twist  on  his  opponent.  For 
an  instant  he  partially  freed  one  side.  Like  lightning 
Roaring  Dick  delivered  a  fierce  straight  kick  at  his  groin. 
The  blow  missed  its  aim,  but  Bob  felt  the  long,  sharp  spikes 
tearing  the  flesh  of  his  thigh.  Sheer  surprise  relaxed  his 
muscles  for  the  fraction  of  an  instant.  Roaring  Dick  low- 
ered his  head,  rammed  it  into  Bob's  chin,  and  at  the  same 
time  reached  for  the  young  man's  gullet  with  both  hands. 
Bob  tore  his  head  out  of  reach  in  the  nick  of  time.  As 
they  closed  again  Roaring  Dick's  right  hand  was  free. 
Bob  felt  the  riverman's  thumb  fumbling  for  his  eyeball. 

"Why,  he  wants  to  cripple  me,  to  kill  me!"  the  young 
man  cried  to  himself.  So  vivid  was  the  astonishment  of 
this  revelation  to  his  sportsman's  soul  that  he  believed  he 
had  said  it  aloud.  This  was  no  mere  fight,  it  was  a  com- 
bat. In  modern  civilized  conditions  combats  are  notably 
few  and  far  between.  It  is  difficult  for  the  average  man 
to  come  to  a  realization  that  he  must  in  any  circumstances 
depend  on  himself  for  the  preservation  of  his  life.  Even 
to  the  last  moment  the  victim  of  the  real  melodrama  that 
occasionally  breaks  out  in  the  most  unlikely  places  is  likely 
to  be  more  concerned  with  his  outraged  dignity  than  with 
his  peril.  That  thumb,  feeling  eagerly  for  his  eye-socket, 
woke  Bob  to  a  new  world.  A  swift  anger  rushed  over  him 
like  a  hot  wave. 

This  man  was  trying  to  injure  him.  Either  the  kick  or 
the  gouge  would  have  left  him  maimed  for  life.  A  sudden 
fierce  desire  to  beat  his  opponent  into  the  earth  seized  Bob. 
With  a  single  effort  he  wrenched  his  arms  free. 

Now  this  fact  has  been  noted  again  and  again:  mere 
size  has  often  little  to  do  with  a  man's  physical  prowess. 
The  list  of  anecdotes  wherein  the  little  fellow  "puts  it  all 
over"  the  big  bully  is  exceptionally  long.  Nor  are  more 
than  a  bare  majority  of  the  anecdotes  baseless.  In  our 


ioo         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

own  lumber  woods  a  one-hundred-and-thirty-pound  man 
with  no  other  weapon  than  his  two  hands  once  nearly  killed 
a  two-hundred-pound  blacksmith  for  pushing  him  off  a 
bench.  This  phenomenon  arises  from  the  fact  that  the 
little  man  seems  capable  often  of  releasing  at  will  a  greater 
flood  of  dynamic  energy  than  a  big  man.  We  express  this 
by  saying  that  it  is  the  spirit  that  counts.  As  a  matter  of 
truth  the  big  man  may  have  as  much  courage  as  the  little 
man.  It  is  simply  that  he  cannot,  at  will,  tap  as  quickly 
the  vast  reservoir  of  nervous  energy  that  lies  beneath  all 
human  effort  of  any  kind  whatsoever.  He  cannot  arouse 
himself  as  can  the  little  man. 

It  was  for  the  foregoing  reason  that  Roaring  Dick  had 
acquired  his  ascendancy.  He  possessed  the  temperament 
that  fuses.  When  he  fought,  he  fought  with  the  ferocity 
and  concentration  of  a  wild  beast.  This  concentration, 
this  power  of  fusing  to  white  heat  all  the  powers  of  a  man's 
being  down  to  the  uttermost,  this  instinctive  ability  to  tap 
the  extra-human  stores  of  dynamics  is  what  constitutes  the 
temperament  of  genius,  whether  it  be  applied  to  invention, 
to  artistic  creation,  to  ruling,  to  finance,  or  merely  to  beat- 
ing down  personal  opposition  by  beating  in  the  opponent's 
face.  Unfortunately  for  him,  Bob  Orde  happened  also  to 
possess  the  temperament  of  genius.  The  two  foul  blows 
aroused  him.  All  at  once  he  became  blind  to  everything 
but  an  unreasoning  desire  to  hurt  this  man  who  had  tried 
to  hurt  him.  On  the  side  of  dynamics  the  combat  suddenly 
equalized.  It  became  a  question  merely  of  relative  power, 
and  Bob  was  the  bigger  man. 

Bob  threw  his  man  from  him  by  main  strength.  Roar- 
ing Dick  staggered  back,  only  to  carrom  against  a  tree. 
A  dozen  swift,  straight  blows  in  the  face  drove  him  by  the 
sheer  force  of  them.  He  was  smothered,  overwhelmed,  by 
the  young  man's  superior  size.  Bob  fell  upon  him 
savagely.  In  less  than  a  minute  the  fight  was  over  as  far  as 
Roaring  Dick  was  concerned.  Blinded,  utterly  winded,  his 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  101 

whiskey-driven  energies  drained  away,  he  fell  like  a  log. 
Bob,  still  blazing,  found  himself  without  an  opponent. 

He  glared  about  hm\.  The  rp*ermer>.  were  gathered  in 
a  silent  ring.  Just  beyond  stood  a  side-bar  buggy  in  which 
a  burly,  sodden  red-faced  man  stood  up  the  better  to  see. 
Bob  recognized  him  as  one  of  the  saloon  keepers  at  Twin 
Falls,  and  his  white-hot  brain  jumped  to  the  correct  con- 
clusion that  Roaring  Dick,  driven  by  some  vague  conscience- 
stirring  in  regard  to  his  work,  had  insisted  on  going  down 
river;  and  that  this  dive-keeper,  loth  to  lose  a  profitable 
customer  in  the  dull  season,  had  offered  transportation  in 
the  hopeful  probability  that  he  could  induce  the  riverman  to 
return  with  him.  Bob  stooped,  lifted  his  unconscious  oppo- 
nent, strode  to  the  side-bar  buggy  and  unceremoniously 
dumped  his  burden  therein. 

"Now,"  said  he  roughly,  "get  out  of  here!  When  this 
man  comes  to,  you  tell  him  he's  fired!  He's  not  to  show 
his  face  on  this  river  again!" 

The  saloon-keeper  demurred,  blustering  slightly  after  the 
time-tried  manner  of  his  sort. 

"Look  here,  young  fellow,  you  can't  talk  that  way  to  me." 

"Can't  I!"  snapped  Bob;  "well,  you  turn  around  and 
get  out  of  here." 

The  man  met  full  the  blaze  of  the  extra-normal  powers 
not  yet  fallen  below  the  barrier  in  the  young  fellow's  per- 
sonality. He  gathered  up  the  reins  and  drove  away. 

Bob  watched  him  out  of  sight,  his  chest  rising  and  fall- 
ing with  the  receding  waves  of  his  passion.  He  was  a 
strange  young  figure  with  his  torn  garments,  his  tossed  hair, 
the  streak  of  blood  beneath  his  eye,  and  the  inner  fading 
glow  of  his  face.  At  last  he  drew  a  long,  shuddering  breath, 
and  turned  to  the  expectant  and  silent  group  of  rivermen. 

"Boys,"  said  he  pleasantly,  "I  don't  know  one  damn 
thing  about  river-driving,  but  I  do  know  when  a  man's 
doing  his  best  work.  I  shall  expect  you  fellows  to  get  in 
and  rustle  down  those  logs.  Any  man  who  thinks  he's 


102          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

going  to  soldier  on  me  is  going  to  get  fooled,  and  he's  going 
to  get  his  time  handed  put  to  him  on  the  spot.  As  near  as 
I  can  make,  oat,  unisss  we  get  <ar.  everlasting  wiggle  on  us 
—  every  one  of  us  —  this  drive'll  hang  up;  and  I'd  just  as 
soon  hang  it  by  laying  off  those  who  try  to  shirk  as  by  letting 
you  hang  it  by  not  working  your  best.  So  get  busy.  If 
anybody  wants  to  quit,  let  'em  step  up  right  now.  Any 
remarks?"  He  looked  from  one  to  another. 

"Nary  remark,"  said  one  man  at  last. 

"  All  right.  Now  get  your  backs  into  this.  It's  team  work 
that  counts.  You've  each  got  your  choice;  either  you  can 
lie  like  the  devil  to  hide  the  fact  that  you  were  a  member 
of  the  Cedar  Branch  crew  in  1899,  or  you  can  go  away  and 
brag  about  it.  It's  up  to  you.  Get  busy." 


XVII 

TWO  days  later  Welton  swung  from  the  train  at  Twin 
Falls.  His  red,  jolly  face  was  as  quizzical  as  ever, 
but  one  who  knew  him  might  have  noticed  that  his 
usual  leisurely  movements  had  quickened.  He  walked 
rapidly  to  the  livery  stable  where  he  ordered  a  rig. 

"Where's  the  drive,  Hank?"  he  asked  the  livery- 
man. 

" Search  me!"  was  his  reply;  "somewhere  down  river. 
Old  Murdock  is  up  talkin'  wild  about  damage  suits,  and 
there's  evidently  been  one  hell  of  a  row,  but  I  just  got  back 
myself  from  drivin'  a  drummer  over  to  Watsonville." 

"Know  if  Darrell  is  in  town?" 

"Oh,  he's  in  town;  there  ain't  no  manner  of  doubt  as  to 
that." 

"Drunk,  eh?" 

"  Spifflicated,  pie-eyed,  loaded,  soshed,"  agreed  the  livery- 
man succinctly. 

Welton  shook  his  head  humorously  and  ruefully. 

"Say,  Welton,"  demanded  the  liveryman  with  the  easy 
familiarity  of  his  class,  "why  in  blazes  do  you  put  a  plain 
drunk  like  that  in  charge  ?" 

"Darrell  is  a  good  man  on  a  big  job,"  said  Welton;  "you 
can't  beat  him,  and  you  can't  get  him  to  take  a  drink.  But 
it  takes  a  big  job  to  steady  him." 

"  Well,  I'd  fire  him,"  stated  Hank  positively. 

"He's  already  fired,"  spoke  up  a  hostler,  "they  laid  him 
off  two  days  ago  when  he  went  down  drunk  and  tried  to 
take  charge." 

"Well,  now,"  chuckled  Welton,  as  he  gathered  up  the 


104          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

reins,  "who'd  have  thought  old  Larsen  could  scare  up  the 
spunk !" 

He  drove  down  the  river  road.  When  he  came  to  a  point 
opposite  Murdock's  he  drew  up. 

"  That  wire  said  that  Murdock  had  the  river  blocked," 
he  mused,  "but  she's  certainly  flowing  free  enough  now. 
The  river's  sacked  clean  now." 

His  presence  on  the  bank  had  attracted  the  attention  of 
a  man  in  the  mill.  After  a  long  scrutiny,  this  individual 
launched  a  skiff  and  pulled  across  the  stream. 

"  I  thought  it  was  you,"  he  cried  as  soon  as  he  had  stepped 
ashore.  "Well,  let  me  tell  you  I'm  going  to  sue  you  for 
damages,  big  damages!" 

Welton  looked  him  over  quizzically,  and  the  laughing 
lines  deepened  around  the  corners  of  his  eyes. 

"Lay  on,  MacDuff,"  said  he,  "nobody's  sued  me  yet 
this  year,  and  it  didn't  seem  natural." 

"And  for  assault  with  deadly  weapons,  and  malicious 
destruction  of  property,  and  seizure  and  — 

"You  must  have  been  talking  to  a  country  lawyer," 
interrupted  Welton,  with  one  of  his  subterranean  chuckles. 
"Don't  do  it.  They  got  nothing  but  time,  and  you  know 
what  your  copy  book  says  about  idle  hands."  He  crossed 
one  leg  and  leaned  back  as  though  for  a  comfortable  chat. 
"No,  you  come  and  see  me,  Murdock,  and  state  how^much 
you've  been  damaged,  and  we'll  see  what  we  can  do.  Why, 
these  little  lawyers  love  to  name  things  big.  They'd  call 
a  sewing  circle  a  riot  if  one  of  the  members  dropped  a 
stitch." 

But  Murdock  was  in  deadly  earnest. 

"Perhaps  throwin'  dynamite  on  the  end  of  a  pole,  and 
mighty  nigh  killin'  us,  and  just  blowin'  the  whole  river  up 
in  the  air  is  your  idea  of  somethin'  little,"  he  stormed; 
"well,  you'll  find  it'll  look  big  enough  in  court." 

"So  that's  what  they  did  to  clear  the  river,"  said  Welton. 
more  than  half  to  himself.  "Well,  Murdock,  suit  your- 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  105 

self;  you  can  see  me  or  that  intellectual  giant  of  a  lawyer 
of  yours.  You'll  find  me  cheaper.  So  long." 

He  drove  on,  chuckling. 

"I  didn't  think  old  Larsen  had  the  spunk,"  he  repeated 
after  a  time.  "  Guess  I  ought  to  have  put  him  in  charge  in 
the  beginning." 

He  drove  to  a  point  where  the  erratic  road  turned  inland. 
There  he  tied  his  horse  to  a  tree  and  tramped  on  afoot. 
After  a  little  he  came  in  sight  of  the  rear  —  and  stopped. 

The  men  were  working  hard;  a  burst  of  hearty  laughter 
saluted  Welton's  ears.  He  could  hardly  believe  them. 
Nobody  had  heard  this  sullen  crew  of  nondescript  river- 
men  from  everywhere  exhibit  the  faintest  symptoms  of 
good-humour  or  interest  before.  Another  burst  of  laughter 
came  up  the  breeze.  A  dozen  men  ran  out  over  the  logs 
as  though  skylarking,  inserted  their  peavies  in  a  threatened 
lock,  and  pried  it  loose. 

"  Pretty  work,"  said  the  expert  in  Welton. 

He  drew  nearer  through  the  low  growth  until  he  stood 
well  within  hearing  and  seeing  distance,  Then  he  stopped 
again. 

Bob  Orde  was  walking  up  and  down  the  bank  talking  to 
the  men.  They  were  laughing  back  at  him.  His  manner 
was  half  fun,  half  earnest,  part  rueful,  part  impatient, 
wholly  affectionate. 

"You,  Jim,"  said  he,  "go  out  and  get  busy.  You're 
loafing,  you  know  you  are;  I  don't  give  a  damn  what  you're 
to  do.  Do  something!  Don't  give  an  imitation  of  a  cast- 
iron  hero.  No,  I  won't  either  tell,  you  what  to  do.  I  don't 
know.  But  do  it,  even  if  you  have  to  make  it  up  out  of 
your  own  head.  Consider  the  festive  water-beetle,  and  the 
ant  and  other  industrious  doodle-bugs.  Get  a  wiggle  on 
you,  fellows.  We'll  never  get  out  at  this  rate.  If  this 
drive  gets  hung  up,  I'm  going  to  murder  every  last  one  of 
you.  Come  on  now,  all  together;  if  I  could  walk  out  on 
those  logs  I'd  build  a  fire  under  you;  but  you've  got  me 


106          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

tied  to  the  bank  and  you  know  it,  you  big  fat  loafers, 
you!" 

"  Keep  your  hair  on,  bub;  we'll  make  it,  all  right" 

"Well,  we'd  just  better  make  it,"  warned  Bob.  "Now 
I'm  going  down  to  the  jam  to  see  whether  their  alarm  clock 
went  off  this  morning.  —  Now,  don't  slumber!" 

After  he  had  disappeared  down  the  trail,  Welton  step- 
ped into  view. 

"Oh,  Charley!"  he  called. 

One  of  the  rivermen  sprang  ashore. 

"When  did  the  rear  leave  Murdock's?"  he  asked  without 
preliminary. 

"Thursday." 

"You've  made  good  time." 

"Bet  we  have,"  replied  Charley  with  pride. 

"Who's  jam  boss?" 

"Larsen." 

"Who's  in  charge  of  the  river,  then?"  demanded  Welton 
sharply. 

"Why,  young  Orde!"  replied  the  riverman,  surprised. 

"Since  when?" 

"Since  he  blew  up  Murdock's  piles." 

"Oh,  he  did  that,  did  he?  I  suppose  he  fired  Darrell, 
too?" 

"  Sure.     It  was  a  peach  of  a  scrap." 

"Scrap?" 

"Yep.  That  Orde  boy  is  a  wonder.  He  just  ruined- 
Roaring  Dick." 

"He  did,  did  he?"  commented  Welton.  "Well,  so  long." 

He  followed  Bob  down  the  river  trail.  At  the  end  of  a 
half-mile  he  overtook  the  young  fellow  kneeling  on  a  point 
gazing  at  a  peeled  stake  planted  at  the  edge  of  the 
river. 

"Wish  I  knew  how  long  this  water  was  going  to  hold  out," 
he  murmured,  as  he  heard  a  man  pause  behind  him.  "  She's 
dropped  two  inches  by  my  patent  self-adjusting  gauge." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          107 

"Young  man,"  said  Welton,  "are  you  on  the  payrolls 
of  this  company?" 

Bob  turned  around,  then  instantly  came  to  his  feet. 

"  Oh,  you're  here  at  last,  Mr.  Welton,"  he  cried  in  tones 
of  vast  relief. 

"  Answer  my  question,  please." 

"What?"  asked  Bob  with  an  expression  of  bewilderment. 

"Are  you  on  the  payrolls  of  this  company?" 

"No,  sir,  of  course  not.     You  know  that." 

"  Then  what  are  you  doing  in  charge  of  this  river  ?  " 

"Why,  don't  you  see " 

"I  see  you've  destroyed  property  and  let  us  in  for  a  big 
damage  suit.  I  see  you've  discharged  our  employees  with- 
out authority  to  do  so.  I  see  you're  bossing  my  men  and 
running  my  drive  without  the  shadow  of  a  right." 

"But  something  had  to  be  done,"  expostulated  Bob. 

"What  do  you  know  about  river-driving?"  broke  in 
Welton.  "Not  a  thing." 

"Men  who  told  me  did " 

"A  bunch  of  river-hogs,"  broke  in  Welton  contemptu- 
ously. "  It  strikes  me,  young  man,  that  you  have  the  most 
colossal  cheek  I've  ever  heard  of." 

But  Bob  faced  him  squarely. 

"Look  here,"  he  said  decidedly,  "I'm  technically  wrong, 
and  I  know  it.  But  good  men  told  me  your  measly  old 
drive  would  hang  if  it  stayed  there  two  days  longer;  and  I 
believed  them,  and  I  believe  them  yet.  I  don't  claim  to 
know  anything  about  river-driving,  but  here  your  confounded 
drive  is  well  on  its  way.  I  kicked  that  drunk  off  the  river 
because  he  was  no  good.  I  took  hold  here  to  help  you  out 
of  a  hole,  and  you're  out." 

"But,"  said  Welton,  carefully,  "don't  you  see  that  you 
took  chances  on  losing  me  a  lot  of  property  ?" 

Bob  looked  up  at  him  a  moment  wearily. 

"From  my  point  of  view  I  have  nothing  to  regret,"  said 
he  stiffly,  and  turned  away. 


io8          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

The  humorous  lines  about  Welton's  eyes  had  been  deep- 
ening throughout  this  interview. 

"That  tops  it  off,"  said  he.  "First  you  get  me  into  trouble; 
then  you  fire  my  head  man;  then  you  run  off  with  my 
property;  finally  you  tell  me  to  go  to  hell!  Son,  you  are  a 
great  man!  Shake!" 

Bob  whirled  in  surprise  to  search  Welton's  good-natured 
jolly  face.  The  latter  was  smiling. 

"Shake,"  he  repeated,  relapsing,  as  was  his  habit  when 
much  in  earnest,  into  his  more  careless  speech;  "you  done 
just  right.  Son,  remember  this:  —  it's  true  —  it  ain't 
doing  things  that  makes  a  man  so  much  as  deciding  things." 

One  of  his  great  chuckles  bubbled  up. 

"It  took  some  nerve  to  jump  in  the  way  you  did;  and 
some  sand  to  handle  the  flea-bitten  bunch  of  river-hogs " 

"You're  mistaken  about  them,"  Bob  broke  in  earnestly. 
"They've  been  maligned.  They're  as  good  and  willing  a 
squad  as  I  ever  want  to  see " 

"Oh,  sure,"  laughed  Welton;  "they're  a  nice  little  job 
lot  of  tin  angels.  However,  don't  worry.  You  sure  saved 
the  day,  for  I  believe  we  would  have  hung  if  we  hadn't  got 
over  the  riffles  before  this  last  drop  of  the  water." 

He  began  to  laugh,  at  first,  gently,  then  more  and  more 
heartily,  until  Bob  stared  at  him  with  considerable  curi- 
osity and  inquiry.  Welton  caught  his  look. 

"I  was  just  thinking  of  Harvey  and  Collins,"  he  remarked 
enigmatically  as  he  wiped  his  eyes.  "Oh,  Bobby,  my  son, 
you  sure  do  please  me.  Only  I  was  afraid  for  a  minute  it 
might  be  a  flash  in  the  pan  and  you  weren't  going  to  tell 
me  to  go  to  hell." 

They  turned  back  toward  the  rear. 

"By  the  way,"  Welton  remarked,  "you  made  one  bad 
break  just  now." 

"What  was  that?"   asked  Bob. 

"You  told  me  you  were  not  on  the  payrolls  of  this  com- 
pany. You  are." 


XVIII 

FOR  a  year  Bob  worked  hard  at  all  sorts  of  jobs.  He 
saw  the  woods  work,  the  river  work,  the  mill  work. 
From  the  stump  to  the  barges  he  followed  the  tim- 
bers. Being  naturally  of  a  good  intelligence,  he  learned 
very  fast  how  things  were  done,  so  that  at  the  end  of  the  time 
mentioned  he  had  acquired  a  fair  working  knowledge  of 
how  affairs  were  accomplished  in  this  business  he  had 
adopted.  That  does  not  mean  he  had  become  a  capable 
lumberman.  One  of  the  strangest  fallacies  long  prevalent 
in  the  public  mind  is  that  lumbering  is  always  a  sure  road 
to  wealth.  The  margin  of  profit  seems  very  large.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  industry  is  so  swiftly  conducted,  on  so 
large  a  scale,  along  such  varied  lines;  the  expenditures  must 
be  made  so  lavishly,  and  yet  so  carefully;  the  consequences 
of  a  niggardly  policy  are  so  quickly  apparent  in  decreased 
efficiency,  and  yet  the  possible  leaks  are  so  many,  quickly 
draining  the  most  abundant  resources,  that  few  not  brought 
up  through  a  long  apprenticeship  avoid  a  loss.  A  great  deal 
of  money  has  been  and  is  made  in  timber.  A  great  deal 
has  been  lost,  simply  because,  while  the  possibilities  are 
alluring,  the  complexity  of  the  numerous  problems  is  unseen. 
At  first  Bob  saw  only  the  results.  You  went  into  the  woods 
with  a  crew  of  men,  felled  trees,  cut  them  into  lengths, 
dragged  them  to  the  roads  already  prepared,  piled  them  on 
sleighs,  hauled  them  to  the  river,  and  stacked  them  there. 
In  the  spring  you  floated  the  logs  to  the  mill  where  they  were 
sawed  into  boards,  laden  into  sailing  vessels  or  steam  barges, 
and  taken  to  market.  There  was  the  whole  process  in  a  nut- 
shell. Of  course,  there  would  be  details  and  obstructions  to 

109 


I  lo          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

cope  with.  But  between  the  eighty  thousand  dollars  or  so 
worth  of  trees  standing  in  the  forest  and  the  quarter-million 
dollars  or  so  they  represented  at  the  market  seemed  space 
enough  to  allow  for  many  reverses. 

As  time  went  on,  however,  the  young  man  came  more 
justly  to  realize  the  minuteness  of  the  bits  comprising  this 
complicated  mosaic.  From  keeping  men  to  the  point  of 
returning,  in  work,  the  worth  of  their  wages;  from  so  corre- 
lating and  arranging  that  work  that  all  might  be  busy  and 
not  some  waiting  for  others;  up  through  the  anxieties  of 
weather  and  the  sullen  or  active  opposition  of  natural  forces, 
to  the  higher  levels  of  competition  and  contracts,  his  awak- 
ened attention  taught  him  that  legitimate  profits  could  attend 
only  on  vigilant  and  minute  attention,  on  comprehensive 
knowledge  of  detail,  on  experience,  and  on  natural  gift. 
The  feeding  of  men  abundantly  at  a  small  price  involved 
questions  of  buying,  transportation  and  forethought,  not  to 
speak  of  concrete  knowledge  of  how  much  such  things  should 
ideally  be  worth.  Tools  by  the  thousand  were  needed  at 
certain  places  and  at  certain  times.  They  must  be  cared 
for  and  accounted  for.  Horses,  and  their  feed,  equipment 
and  care,  made  another  not  inconsiderable  item  both  of 
expense  and  attention.  And  so  with  a  thousand  and  one 
details  which  it  would  be  superfluous  to  enumerate  here. 
Each  cost  money,  and  some  one's  time.  Relaxed  attention 
might  make  each  cost  a  few  pennies  more.  What  do  a  few 
pennies  amount  to?  Two  things:  a  lowering  of  the  stand- 
ard of  efficiency,  and,  in  the  long  run,  many  dollars.  If 
incompetence,  or  inexperience  should  be  added  to  relaxed 
attention,  so  that  the  various  activities  do  not  mortise  exactly 
one  with  another,  and  the  legitimate  results  to  be  expected 
from  the  pennies  do  not  arrive,  then  the  sum  total  is  very 
apt  to  be  failure.  Where  organized  and  settled  industries, 
however  complicated  in  detail,  are  in  a  manner  played  by 
score,  these  frontier  activities  are  vast  improvisations  follow- 
ing  only  the  general  unchangeable  laws  of  commerce. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  in 

Therefore,  Bob  was  very  much  surprised  and  not  a  little 
dismayed  at  what  Mr.  Welton  had  to  say  to  him  one  evening 
early  in  the  spring. 

It  was  in  the  "van"  of  Camp  Thirty-nine.  Over  in  the 
corner  under  the  lamp  the  sealer  and  bookkeeper  was  epito- 
mizing the  results  of  his  day.  Welton  and  Bob  sat  close  to 
the  round  stove  in  the  middle,  smoking  their  pipes.  The 
three  or  four  bunks  belonging  to  Bob,  the  sealer,  and  the 
camp  boss  were  dim  in  another  corner;  the  shelves  of  goods 
for  trade  with  the  men  occupied  a  third.  A  rude  door  and 
a  pair  of  tiny  windows  communicated  with  the  world  out- 
side. Flickers  of  light  from  the  cracks  in  the  stove  played 
over  the  massive  logs  of  the  little  building,  over  the  rough 
floor  and  the  weapons  and  snowshoes  on  the  wall.  Both 
Bob  and  Welton  were  dressed  in  flannel  and  kersey,  with  the 
heavy  German  socks  and  lumberman's  rubbers  on  their  feet. 
Their  bright-checked  Mackinaw  jackets  lay  where  they  had 
been  flung  on  the  beds.  Costume  and  surroundings  both 
were  a  thousand  miles  from  civilization;  yet  civilization  was 
knocking  at  the  door.  Welton  gave  expression  to  this 
thought. 

"Two  seasons  more'll  finish  us,  Bob,"  said  he.  "I've 
logged  the  Michigan  woods  for  thirty-five  years,  but  now 
I'm  about  done  here." 

"Yes,  I  guess  they're  all  about  done,"  agreed  Bob. 

"  The  big  men  have  gone  West;  lots  of  the  old  lumber  jacks 
are  out  there  now.  It's  our  turn.  I  suppose  you  know 
we've  got  timber  in  California?" 

"Yes,"  said  Bob,  with  a  wry  grin,  as  he  thought  of  the 
columns  of  "descriptions"  he  had  copied;  "I  know  that." 

"There's  about  half  a  billion  feet  of  it.  We'll  begin  to 
manufacture  when  we  get  through  here.  I'm  going  out  next 
month,  as  soon  as  the  snow  is  out  of  the  mountains,  to  see 
about  the  plant  and  the  general  lay-out.  I'm  going  to  leave 
you  in  charge  here." 

Bob  almost  dropped  his  pipe  as  his  jaws  fell  apart. 


112          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"  Me !"  he  cried. 

"  Yes,  you." 

"But  I  can't;  I  don't  know  enough!  I'd  make  a  mess  of 
the  whole  business,"  Bob  expostulated. 

"You've  been  around  here  for  a  year,"  said  Welton,  "and 
things  are  running  all  right.  I  want  somebody  to  see  that 
things  move  along,  and  you're  the  one.  Are  you  going  to 
refuse?" 

"No;  I  suppose  I  can't  refuse,"  said  Bob  miserably,  and 
fell  silent 


XIX 

TO  BOB'S  father  Wei  ton  expressed  himself  in  some- 
what different  terms.  The  two  men  met  at  the 
Auditorium  Annex,  where  they  promptly  adjourned 
to  the  Palm  Room  and  a  little  table. 

"Now,  Jack,"  the  lumberman  replied  to  his  friend's 
expostulation,  "I  know  just  as  well  as  you  do  that  the  kid 
isn't  capable  yet  of  handling  a  proposition  on  his  own  hook. 
It's  just  for  that  reason  that  I  put  him  in  charge." 

"And  Welton  isn't  an  Irish  name,  either,"  murmured 
Jack  Orde. 

"What?  Oh,  I  see.  No;  and  that  isn't  an  Irish  bull, 
either.  I  put  him  in  charge  so  he'd  have  to  learn  something. 
He's  a  good  kid,  and  he'll  take  himself  dead  serious.  He'll 
be  deciding  everything  that  comes  up  all  for  himself,  and 
he'll  lie  awake  nights  doing  it.  And  all  the  time  things  will 
be  going  on  almost  like  he  wasn't  there!" 

Welton  paused  to  chuckle  in  his  hearty  manner. 

"You  see,  I've  brought  that  crew  up  in  the  business. 
Mason  is  as  good  a  mill  man  as  they  make;  and  Tally's  all 
right  in  the  woods  and  on  the  river;  and  I  reckon  it  would 
be  difficult  to  take  a  nick  out  of  Collins  in  office  work." 

"In  other  words,  Bob  is  to  hold  the  ends  of  the  reins 
while  these  other  men  drive,"  said  his  father,  vastly  amused. 
"That's  more  like  it.  I'd  hate  to  bury  a  green  man  under 
too  much  responsibility." 

"No,"  denied  Welton,  "it  isn't  that  exactly.  Somebody's 
got  to  boss  the  rest  of  'em.  And  Bob  certainly  is  a  wonder 
at  getting  the  men  to  like  him  and  to  work  for  him.  That's 
his  strong  point.  He  gets  on  with  them,  and  he  isn't  afraid 

"3 


IH          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

to  tell  'em  when  he  thinks  they're  'sojering'  on  him.  That 
makes  me  think:  I  wonder  what  kind  of  ornaments  these 
waiters  are  supposed  to  be."  He  rapped  sharply  on  the 
little  table  with  his  pocket-knife. 

"  It's  up  to  him,"  he  went  on,  after  the  waiter  had  departed. 
"  If  he's  too  touchy  to  acknowledge  his  ignorance  on  different 
points  that  come  up,  and  if  he's  too  proud  to  ask  questions 
when  he's  stumped,  why,  he's  going  to  get  in  a  lot  of  trouble. 
If  he's  willing  to  rely  on  his  men  for  knowledge,  and  will 
just  see  that  everybody  keeps  busy  and  sees  that  they  bunch 
their  hits,  why,  he'll  get  on  well  enough." 

"It  takes  a  pretty  wise  head  to  make  them  bunch  their 
hits,"  Orde  pointed  out,  "and  a  heap  of  figuring." 

"It'll  keep  him  mighty  busy,  even  at  best,"  acknowledged 
Welton,  "  and  he's  going  to  make  some  bad  breaks.  I  know 
that." 

"Bad  breaks  cost  money,"  Orde  reminded  him. 

"  So  does  any  education.  Even  at  its  worst  this  can't  cost 
much  money.  He  can't  wreck  things  —  the  organization 
is  too  good  —  he'll  just  make  'em  wobble  a  little.  And  this 
is  a  mighty  small  and  incidental  proposition,  while  this  Cali- 
fornia lay-out  is  a  big  project.  No,  by  my  figuring  Bob  won't 
actually  do  much,  but  he'll  lie  awake  nights  to  do  a  hell  of  a 
lot  of  deciding,  and " 

"Oh,  I  know,"  broke  in  Orde  with  a  laugh;  "you  haven't 
changed  an  inch  in  twenty  years  —  and  'it's  not  doing  but 
deciding  that  makes  a  man,'"  he  quoted. 

"  Well,  isn't  it  ?  "  demanded  Welton  insistently. 

"Of  course,"  agreed  Orde  with  another  laugh.  "I  was 
just  tickled  to  see  you  hadn't  changed  a  hair.  Now  if  you'd 
only  moralize  on  square  pegs  in  round  holes,  I'd  hear  again 
the  birds  singing  in  the  elms  by  the  dear  old  churchyard." 

Welton  grinned,  a  trifle  shamefacedly.  Nevertheless  he 
went  on  with  the  development  of  his  philosophy. 

"Well,"  he  asserted  stoutly,  "that's  just  what  Bob  was 
when  I  got  there.  He  can't  handle  figures  any  better  than 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  115 

I  can,  and  Collins  had  been  putting  him  through  a  course  of 
sprouts."  He  paused  and  sipped  at  his  glass.  "  Of  course, 
if  I  wasn't  absolutely  certain  of  the  men  under  him,  it  would 
be  a  fool  proposition.  Bob  isn't  the  kind  to  get  onto  treachery 
or  double-dealing  very  quick.  He  likes  people  too  well. 
But  as  it  is,  he'll  get  a  lot  of  training  cheap." 

Orde  ruminated  over  this  for  some  time,  sipping  slowly 
between  puffs  at  his  cigar. 

"Why  wouldn't  it  be  better  to  take  him  out  to  California 
now?"  he  asked  at  length.  "You'll  be  building  your  roads 
and  flumes  and  railroad,  getting  your  mill  up,  buying  your 
machinery  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  That  ought  to  be  good 
experience  for  him  —  to  see  the  thing  right  from  the  begin- 
ning." 

"Bob  is  going  to  be  a  lumberman,  and  that  isn't  lumber- 
ing; it's  construction.  Once  it's  up,  it  will  never  have  to  be 
done  again.  The  California  timber  will  last  out  Bob's  life- 
time, and  you  know  it.  He'd  better  learn  lumbering,  which 
he'll  do  for  the  next  fifty  years,  than  to  build  a  mill,  which 
he'll  never  have  to  do  again  —  unless  it  burns  up,"  he  added 
as  a  half-humorous  afterthought. 

"Correct,"  Orde  agreed  promptly  to  this.  "You're  a 
wonder.  When  I  found  a  university  with  my  ill-gotten 
gains,  I'll  give  you  a  job  as  professor  of  —  well,  of  Common 
Sense,  by  jiminy!" 


XX 

BOB  managed  to  lose  some  money  in  his  two  years  of 
apprenticeship.  That  is  to  say,  the  net  income 
from  the  small  operations  under  his  charge  was 
somewhat  less  than  it  would  have  been  under  Welton's  super- 
vision. Even  at  that,  the  balance  sheet  showed  a  profit. 
This  was  probably  due  more  to  the  perfection  of  the  organi- 
zation than  to  any  great  ability  on  Bob's  part.  Nevertheless, 
he  exercised  a  real  control  over  the  firm's  destinies,  and  in 
one  or  two  instances  of  sudden  crisis  threw  its  energies  defin- 
itely into  channels  of  his  own  choosing.  Especially  was 
this  true  in  dealing  with  the  riverman's  arch-enemy,  the  moss- 
back. 

The  mossback  follows  the  axe.  When  the  timber  is  cut, 
naturally  the  land  remains.  Either  the  company  must  pay 
taxes  on  it,  sell  it,  or  allow  it  to  revert  to  the  state.  It  may 
be  very  good  land,  but  it  is  encumbered  with  old  slashing, 
probably  much  of  it  needs  drainage,  a  stubborn  second- 
growth  of  scrub  oak  or  red  willows  has  already  usurped  the 
soil,  and  above  all  it  is  isolated.  Far  from  the  cities,  far 
from  the  railroad,  far  even  from  the  crossroad's  general  store> 
it  is  further  cut  off  by  the  necessity  of  traversing  atrocious  and 
—  in  the  wet  season  —  bottomless  roads  to  even  the  nearest 
neighbour.  Naturally,  then,  in  seeking  purchasers  for  this 
cut-over  land,  the  Company  must  address  itself  to  a  certain 
limited  class.  For,  if  a  man  has  money,  he  will  buy  him  a 
cleared  farm  in  a  settled  country.  The  mossback  pays  in 
pennies  and  gives  a  mortgage.  Then  he  addresses  himself 
to  clearing  the  land.  It  follows  that  he  is  poverty-stricken, 
lives  frugally  and  is  very  tenacious  of  what  property  rights 

116 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  117 

he  may  be  able  to  coax  or  wring  from  a  hard  wilderness.  He 
dwells  in  a  shack,  works  in  a  swamp,  and  sees  no  farther  than 
the  rail  fence  he  has  split  out  to  surround  his  farm. 

Thus,  while  he  possesses  many  of  the  sturdy  pioneer  vir- 
tues, he  becomes  by  necessity  the  direct  antithesis  to  the 
riverman.  The  purchase  of  a  bit  of  harness,  a  vehicle,  a 
necessary  tool  or  implement  is  a  matter  of  close  economy, 
long  figuring,  and  much  work.  Interest  on  the  mortgage 
must  be  paid.  And  what  can  a  backwoods  farm  produce 
worth  money?  And  where  can  it  find  a  market?  Very 
little;  and  very  far.  A  man  must  "play  close  to  his  chest" 
in  order  to  accomplish  that  plain,  primary,  simple  duty  of 
making  both  ends  meet.  The  extreme  of  this  virtue  means 
a  defect,  of  course;  it  means  narrowness  of  vision,  conser- 
vatism that  comes  close  to  suspicion,  illiberality.  When 
these  qualities  meet  the  sometimes  foolishly  generous  and 
lavish  ideas  of  men  trained  in  the  reckless  life  of  the  river, 
almost  inevitably  are  aroused  suspicion  on  one  side,  con- 
tempt on  the  other  and  antagonism  on  both. 

This  is  true  even  in  casual  and  chance  intercourse.  But 
when,  as  often  happens,  the  mossback's  farm  extends  to  the 
very  river  bank  itself;  when  the  legal  rights  of  property  clash 
with  the  vaguer  but  no  less  certain  rights  of  custom,  then 
there  is  room  for  endless  bickering.  When  the  river  boss 
steps  between  his  men  and  the  backwoods  farmer,  he  must, 
on  the  merits  of  the  case  and  with  due  regard  to  the  sort 
of  man  he  has  to  deal  with,  decide  at  once  whether  he  will 
persuade,  argue,  coerce,  or  fight.  It  may  come  to  be  a 
definite  choice  between  present  delay  or  a  future  lav/suit. 

This  kind  of  decision  Bob  was  most  frequently  called  upon 
to  make.  He  knew  little  about  law,  but  he  had  a  very  good 
feeling  for  the  human  side.  Whatever  mistakes  he  made, 
the  series  of  squabbles  nourished  his  sense  of  loyalty  to  the 
company.  His  woods  training  was  gradually  bringing  him 
to  the  lumberman's  point  of  view;  and  the  lumberman's  point 
of  view  means,  primarily,  timber  and  loyalty. 


n8          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"By  Jove,  what  a  fine  bunch  of  timber!"  was  his  first 
thought  on  entering  a  particularly  imposing  grove. 

Where  another  man  would  catch  merely  a  general  effect, 
his  more  practised  eye  would  estimate  heights,  diameters, 
the  growth  of  the  limbs,  the  probable  straightness  of  the 
grain.  His  eye  almost  unconsciously  sought  the  possibilities 
of  location  —  whether  a  road  could  be  brought  in  easily, 
whether  the  grades  could  run  right.  A  fine  tree  gave  him 
the  complicated  pleasure  that  comes  to  any  expert  on  ana- 
lytical contemplation  of  any  object.  It  meant  timber,  good 
or  bad,  as  well  as  beauty. 

Just  so  opposition  meant  antagonism.  Bob  was  naturally 
of  a  partisan  temperament.  He  played  the  game  fairly, 
but  he  played  it  hard.  Games  imply  rules,  and  any  infrac- 
tion of  the  rules  is  unfair  and  to  be  punished.  Bob  could 
not  be  expected  to  reflect  that  while  rules  are  generally 
imposed  by  a  third  party  on  both  contestants  alike,  in  this 
game  the  rules  with  which  he  was  acquainted  had  been  made 
by  his  side;  that  perhaps  the  other  fellow  might  have  another 
set  of  rules.  All  he  saw  was  that  the  antagonists  were  per- 
petrating a  series  of  contemptible,  petty,  mean  tricks  or  a 
succession  of  dastardly  outrages.  His  loyalty  and  anger 
were  both  thoroughly  aroused,  and  he  plunged  into  his  little 
fights  with  entire  whole-heartedness.  As  his  side  of  the  ques- 
tion meant  getting  out  the  logs,  the  combination  went  far 
toward  efficiency.  When  the  drive  was  down  in  the  spring,  Bob 
looked  back  on  his  mossback  campaign  with  a  little  grieved 
surprise  that  men  could  think  it  worth  their  self-respect  to  try 
to  take  such  contemptible  advantage  of  quibbles  for  the  pur- 
pose of  defeating  what  was  certainly  customary  and  fair,  even 
if  it  might  not  be  technically  legal.  What  the  mossbacks 
thought  about  it  we  can  safely  leave  to  the  crossroad  stores. 

In  other  respects  Bob  had  the  good  sense  to  depend  abso- 
lutely on  his  subordinates. 

"How  long  do  you  think  it  ought  to  take  to  cut  the  rest 
of  Eight?"  he  would  ask  Tally. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          119 

"About  two  weeks." 

Bob  said  nothing  more,  but  next  day  he  ruminated  long  in 
the  snow-still  forest  at  Eight,  trying  to  apportion  in  his 
own  mind  the  twelve  days'  work.  If  it  did  not  go  at  a  two 
weeks'  gait,  he  speedily  wanted  to  know  why. 

When  the  sleighs  failed  to  return  up  the  ice  road  wit> 
expected  regularity,  Bob  tramped  down  to  the  " banks"  to 
see  what  the  trouble  was.  When  he  returned,  he  remarked 
casually  to  Jim  Tally: 

"I  fired  Powell  off  the  job  as  foreman,  and  put  in  Downy." 

"Why?"  asked  Tally.  "I  put  Powell  in  there  because 
I  thought  he  was  an  almighty  good  worker." 

"  He  is,"  said  Bob ;  "  too  good.  I  found  them  a  little  short- 
handed  down  there,  and  getting  discouraged.  The  sleighs 
were  coming  in  on  them  faster  than  they  could  unload. 
The  men  couldn't  see  how  they  were  going  to  catch  up,  so 
they'd  slacked  down  a  little,  which  made  it  worse.  Powell 
had  his  jacket  off  and  was  working  like  the  devil  with  a 
canthook.  He  does  about  the  quickest  and  hardest  yank 
with  a  canthook  I  ever  saw,"  mused  Bob. 

"Well?"  demanded  Tally. 

"Oh,"  said  Bob,  "I  told  him  if  that  was  the  kind  of  a 
job  he  wanted,  he  could  have  it.  And  I  told  Downy  to  take 
charge.  I  don't  pay  a  foreman's  wages  for  canthook  work; 
I  hire  him  to  keep  the  men  busy,  and  he  sure  can't  do  it  if  he 
occupies  his  time  and  attention  rolling  logs." 

"He  was  doing  his  best  to  straighten  things  out,"  said 
Tally. 

"Well,  I'm  now  paying  him  for  his  best,"  replied  Bob, 
philosophically. 

But  if  it  had  been  a  question  of  how  most  quickly  to  skid 
the  logs  brought  in  by  the  sleighs,  Bob  would  never  have 
dreamed  of  questioning  Powell's  opinion,  although  he  might 
later  have  demanded  expert  corroboration  from  Tally. 

The  outdoor  life,  too,  interested  him  and  kept  him  in  train- 
ing, both  physically  and  spiritually.  He  realized  his  mis- 


120          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

takes,  but  they  were  now  mistakes  of  judgment  rather  than  of 
mechanical  accuracy,  and  he  did  not  worry  over  them  once 
they  were  behind  him. 

When  Welton  returned  from  California  toward  the  close 
of  the  season,  he  found  the  young  man  buoyant  and  happy, 
deeply  absorbed,  well  liked,  and  in  a  fair  way  to  learn  some- 
thing about  the  business. 

Almost  immediately  after  his  return,  the  mill  was  closed 
down.  The  remaining  lumber  in  the  yards  was  shipped 
mit  as  rapidly  as  possible.  By  the  end  of  September  the 
(vork  was  over. 

Bob  perforce  accepted  a  vacation  of  some  months  while 
affairs  were  in  preparation  for  the  westward  exodus. 

Then  he  answered  a  summons  to  meet  Mr.  Welton  at  the 
Chicago  offices. 

He  entered  the  little  outer  office  he  had  left  so  down- 
heartedly  three  years  before.  Harvey  and  his  two  assistants 
sat  on  the  high  stools  in  front  of  the  shelf-like  desk.  The 
same  pictures  of  record  loads,  large  trees,  mill  crews  and 
logging  camps  hung  on  the  walls.  The  same  atmosphere 
of  peace  and  immemorial  quiet  brooded  over  the  place. 
Through  the  half-open  door  Bob  could  see  Mr.  Fox,  his  leg 
swung  over  the  arm  of  his  revolving  chair,  chatting  in  a 
leisurely  fashion  with  some  visitor. 

No  one  had  heard  him  enter.  He  stood  for  a  moment 
staring  at  the  three  bent  backs  before  him.  He  remembered 
the  infinite  details  of  the  work  he  had  left,  the  purchasings 
of  innumerable  little  things,  the  regulation  of  outlays,  the 
balancings  of  expenditures,  the  constantly  shifting  property 
values,  the  cost  of  tools,  food,  implements,  wages,  machinery, 
transportation,  operation.  And  in  addition  he  brought  to 
mind  the  minute  and  vexatious  mortgage  and  sale  and  rental 
business  having  to  do  with  the  old  cut-over  lands;  the  legal 
complications;  the  questions  of  arbitration  and  privilege. 
And  beyond  that  his  mind  glimpsed  dimly  the  extent  of  other 
interests,  concerning  which  he  knew  little  —  investment 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          121 

interests,  and  silent  interests  in  various  manufacturing  enter- 
prises where  the  Company  had  occasionally  invested  a  surplus 
by  way  of  a  flyer.  In  this  quiet  place  all  these  things  were 
correlated,  compared,  docketed,  and  filed  away.  In  the 
brains  of  the  four  men  before  him  all  these  infinite  details 
were  laid  out  in  order.  He  knew  that  Harvey  could  answer 
specific  questions  as  to  any  feature  of  any  one  of  these  activ- 
ities. All  the  turmoil,  the  rush  and  roar  of  the  river,  the  mills, 
the  open  lakes,  the  great  wildernesses  passed  through  this 
silent,  dusty  room.  The  problems  that  kept  a  dozen  men 
busy  in  the  solving  came  here  also,  together  with  a  hundred 
others.  Bob  recalled  his  sight  of  the  hurried,  wholesale  ship- 
ping clerk  he  had  admired  when,  discouraged  and  discred- 
ited, he  had  left  the  office  three  years  before.  He  had 
thought  that  individual  busy,  and  had  contrasted  his  activ- 
ity with  the  somnolence  of  this  office.  Busy !  Why,  he,  Bob, 
had  over  and  over  again  been  ten  times  as  busy.  At  the 
thought  he  chuckled  aloud.  Harvey  and  his  assistants  turned 
to  the  sound. 

" Hullo,  Harvey;  hullo  Archie!"  cried  the  young  man. 
"I'm  certainly  glad  to  see  you.  You're  the  only  men  I  ever 
saw  who  could  be  really  bang-up  rushed  and  never  show  it." 


PART  TWO 


I 

ON  A  wintry  and  blustering  evening  in  the  latter  part 
of  February,  1902,  Welton  and  Bob  boarded  the 
Union  Pacific  train  en  route  for  California.  They 
distributed  their  hand  baggage,  then  promptly  took  their 
way  forward  to  the  buffet  car,  where  they  disposed  them- 
selves in  the  leather-and-wicker  arm-chairs  for  a  smoke. 
At  this  time  of  year  the  travel  had  fallen  off  some- 
what in  volume.  The  westward  tourist  rush  had  slack- 
ened, and  the  train  was  occupied  only  by  those  who  had 
definite  business  in  the  Land  of  Promise,  and  by  that  class 
of  wise  ones  who  realize  that  an  Eastern  March  and  April 
are  more  to  be  avoided  than  the  regulation  winter  months. 
The  smoking  car  contained  then  but  a  half-dozen  men. 

Welton  and  Bob  took  their  places  and  lit  their  cigars.  The 
train  swayed  gently  along,  its  rattle  muffled  by  the  storm. 
Polished  black  squares  represented  the  windows  across  which 
drifted  hazy  lights  and  ghostlike  suggestions  of  snowflakes. 
Bob  watched  this  ebony  nothingness  in  great  idleness  of  spirit. 
Presently  one  of  the  half-dozen  men  arose  from  his  place, 
walked  the  length  of  the  car,  and  dropped  into  the  next  chair. 

"You're  Bob  Orde,  aren't  you?"  he  remarked  without 
preliminary. 

Bob  looked  up.  He  saw  before  him  a  very  heavy-set 
young  man,  of  medium  height,  possessed  of  a  full  moon  of 
a  face,  and  alert  brown  eyes. 

"I  thought  so,"  went  on  this  young  man  in  answer  to 
Bob's  assent.  "I'm  Baker  of '93.  You  wouldn't  know  me; 
I  was  before  your  time.  But  I  know  you.  Seen  you  play. 
Headed  for  the  Sunshine  and  Flowers?" 

"5 


126          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Yes,"  said  Bob. 

"Ever  been  there  before ?" 

"No." 

"Great  country!  If  you  listen  to  all  the  come-on  stuff 
you  may  be  disappointed  —  at  first." 

"How's  that?"  asked  Bob,  highly  amused.  "Isn't  the 
place  what  it's  cracked  up  to  be?" 

"It's  more,"  asserted  Baker,  "but  not  the  same  stuff. 
The  climate's  bully  —  best  little  old  climate  they've  made, 
up  to  date  —  but  it's  got  to  rain  once  in  a  while;  and  the 
wind's  got  to  blow;  and  all  that.  If  you  believe  the  Weather 
in  the  Old  Home  column,  you'll  be  sore.  In  two  years  you'll 
be  sore,  anyway,  whenever  it  does  anything  but  stand  55  at 
night,  72  at  noon  and  shine  like  the  spotlight  on  the  illustrated 
songster.  If  a  Californian  sees  a  little  white  cloud  about  as 
big  as  a  toy  balloon  down  in  the  southeast  corner  he  gets 
morose  as  a  badger.  If  it  starts  to  drizzle  what  you'd  call 
a  light  fog  he  holes  up.  When  it  rains  he  hibernates  like 
a  bear,  and  the  streets  look  like  one  of  these  populous  and 
thriving  Aztec  metropoli  you  see  down  Sonora  way.  I  guess 
every  man  is  privileged  to  get  just  about  so  sore  on  the  weather 
wherever  he  is  —  and  does  so." 

"You  been  out  there  long?"  asked  Bob. 

"Ever  since  I  graduated,"  returned  Baker  promptly,  "and 
I  wouldn't  live  anywhere  else.  They're  doing  real  things. 
Don't  you  run  away  with  any  notions  of  dolce  far  nientes 
or  tropical  languor.  This  California  gang  is  strictly  on  the 
job.  The  bunch  seated  under  the  spreading  banana  tree 
aren't  waiting  for  the  ripe  fruit  to  drop  in  their  mouths. 
That's  in  the  First  Reader  and  maybe  somewhere  down 
among  the  Black  and  Tans 

" Black  and  Tans?"  interrupted  Bob  with  a  note  of  query. 

"Yep.  Oilers  —  greasers  —  Mexicans  —  hidalgos  of  all 
kinds  from  here  to  the  equator,"  explained  Baker.  "No, 
sir,  that  gang  under  the  banana  tree  are  either  waiting  there 
to  sandbag  the  next  tourist  and  sell  him  some  real  estate 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  127 

before  he  comes  to,  or  else  they're  figuring  on  uprooting  said 
piffling  shrub  and  putting  up  an  office  building.  Which 
part  of  the  country  are  you  going  to?" 

"Near  White  Oaks,"  said  Bob. 

"No  abalone  shells  for  yours,  eh?"  remarked  Baker 
cryptically.  He  glanced  at  Welton.  "Where's  your  tim- 
ber located?"  he  asked. 

"Near  Granite,"  replied  Bob;  —  "why,  how  the  devil  did 
you  know  we  were  out  for  timber?" 

"'How  did  the  Master  Mind  solve  that  problem?'" 
asked  Baker.  "  Ah,  that's  my  secret!" 

"No,  that  doesn't  go,"  said  Bob.  "I  insist  on  knowing; 
and  what  was  that  abalone  shell  remark?" 

"Abalone  shells  —  tourists."  capitulated  Baker;  "also 
Mexican  drawn  work,  bead  belts,  burned  leather,  fake  tur- 
quoise and  ostrich  eggs.  Sabe?" 

"Sure.     But  why  not  a  tourist?" 

"Tourist  — in  White  Oaks!"  cried  Baker.  "Son,  White 
Oaks  raises  raisins  and  peaches  and  apricots  and  figs  and  such 
things  in  quantities  to  stagger  you.  It  is  a  nice,  well-built 
city,  and  well  conducted,  and  full  of  real  estate  boards  and 
chambers  of  commerce.  But  it  is  not  framed  up  for  tourists, 
and  it  knows  it.  Not  at  TOO  degrees  Fahrenheit  'most  all 
summer,  and  a  chill  and  solemn  land  fog  'most  all  winter." 

"Well,  why  timber?"  demanded  Bob. 

"My  dear  Watson,"  said  Baker,  indicating  Mr.  Welton, 
who  grinned.  "Does  your  side  partner  resemble  a  raisin 
raiser?  Has  he  the  ear  marks  of  a  gentle  agriculturist? 
Would  you  describe  him  as  a  typical  sheepman,  or  as  a 
daring  and  resolute  bee-keeper?" 

Bob  shook  his  head,  still  unconvinced. 

"Well,  if  you  will  uncover  my  dark  methods,"  sighed 
Baker.  He  leaned  over  and  deftly  abstracted  from  the 
breast  pocket  of  Bob's  coat  a  long,  narrow  document.  "You 
see  the  top  of  this  stuck  out  in  plain  sight.  To  the  intelli- 
gent eye  instructed  beyond  the  second  grade  of  our  excel- 


128          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

lent  school  system  the  inscription  cannot  be  mistaken."  He 
held  it  around  for  Bob  to  see.  In  plain  typing  the  docu- 
ment was  endorsed  as  follows : 

"Granite  County  Timber  Lands." 

"My  methods  are  very  subtle,"  said  Baker,  laughing.  "I 
find  it  difficult  to  explain  them.  Come  around  sometime 
and  I'll  pick  it  out  for  you  on  the  piano." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Bob  in  his  turn. 

"Los  Angeles,  on  business." 

"On  business?  —  or  just  buying  abalone  shells?" 

"It  takes  a  millionaire  or  an  Iowa  farmer  to  be  a  tourist," 
replied  Baker. 

"What  are  you  doing?" 

"  Supporting  an  extravagant  wife,  I  tell  Mrs.  Baker.  You 
want  to  get  down  that  way.  The  town's  a  marvel.  It's 
grown  from  thirty  thousand  to  two  hundred  thousand  in 
twenty  years;  it  has  enough  real  estate  sub-divisions  to 
accommodate  eight  million;  it  has  invented  the  come-on 
house  built  by  the  real  estate  agents  to  show  how  building 
is  looking  up  at  Lonesomehurst;  it  has  two  thousand  kinds 
of  architecture  —  all  different;  it  has  more  good  stuff  and 
more  fake  stuff  than  any  place  on  earth  —  it's  a  wonder. 
Come  on  down  and  I'll  show  you  the  high  buildings." 

He  chatted  for  a  few  moments,  then  rose  abruptly  and 
disappeared  down  the  aisle  toward  the  sleeping  cars  with- 
out the  formality  of  a  farewell. 

Welton  had  been  listening  amusedly,  and  puffing  away 
at  his  cigar  in  silence. 

"Well,"  said  he  when  Baker  had  gone.  "How  do  you 
like  your  friend?" 

"He's  certainly  amusing,"  laughed  Bob,  "and  mighty 
good  company.  That  sort  of  a  fellow  is  lots  of  fun.  I've 
seen  them  many  times  coming  back  at  initiation  or  Com- 
mencement. They  are  great  heroes  to  the  kids." 

"But  not  to  any  one  else?"  inquired  Welton. 

"Well  — that's    about    it,"    Bob    hesitated.     "They're 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  129 

awfully  good  fellows,  and  see  the  joke,  and  jolly  things  up; 
but  they  somehow  don't  amount  to  much." 

"Wouldn't  think  much  of  the  scheme  of  trying  Baker  as 
woods  foreman  up  in  our  timber,  then?"  suggested  Welton, 

"Him?    Lord,  no!"  said  Bob,  surprised. 

Welton  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  heartily,  in 
great  salvos. 

"Ho!  ho!  ho!"  he  shouted.  "Oh,  Bobby,  I  wish  any  old 
Native  Son  could  be  here  to  enjoy  this  joke  with  me.  Hoi 
ho!  ho!  ho!" 

The  coloured  porter  stuck  his  head  in  to  see  what  this 
tremendous  rolling  noise  might  be,  grinned  sympathetically, 
and  withdrew. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you!"  cried  Bob,  exasperated, 
"Shut  up,  and  be  sensible." 

Welton  wiped  his  eyes. 

"That,  son,  is  Carleton  P.  Baker.  Just  say  Carleton  P. 
Baker  to  a  Californian." 

"Well,  I  can't,  for  four  days,  anyway.     Who  is  he?" 

"Didn't  find  out  from  him,  for  all  his  talk,  did  you?" 
said  Welton  shrewdly.  "Well,  Baker,  as  he  told  you, 
graduated  from  college  in  '93.  He  came  to  California  with 
about  two  thousand  dollars  of  capital  and  no  experience^ 
He  had  the  sense  to  go  in  for  water  rights,  and  here  he  is!"' 

"Marvellous!"  cried  Bob  sarcastically.  "But  what  is 
he  now  that  he  is  here?" 

"  Head  of  three  of  the  biggest  power  projects  in  California,"' 
said  Welton  impressively,  "and  controller  of  more  potential 
water  power  than  any  other  man  or  corporation  in  the  state."' 

Welton  enjoyed  his  joke  hugely.  After  Bob  had  turned 
in,  the  big  man  parted  the  curtains  to  his  berth. 

"Oh,  Bob,"  he  called  guardedly. 

"What!"  grunted  the  young  man,  half-asleep. 

"Who  do  you  think  we'd  better  get  for  woods  foreman 
just  in  case  Baker  shouldn't  take  the  job?" 


II 

AtL  next  day  the  train  puffed  over  the  snow-blown 
plains.  There  was  little  in  the  prospect,  save  an 
inspiration  to  thankfulness  that  the  cars  were  warm 
and  comfortable.  Bob  and  Welton  spent  the  morning 
going  over  their  plans  for  the  new  country.  After  lunch, 
which  in  the  manner  of  trans-continental  travellers  they 
stretched  over  as  long  a  period  as  possible,  they  again  repaired 
to  the  smoking  car.  Baker  hailed  them  jovially,  waving  a 
stubby  forefinger  at  vacant  seats. 

"Say,  do  Populists  grow  whiskers,  or  do  whiskers  make 
Populists?"  he  demanded. 

"Give  it  up,"  replied  Welton  promptly.     "Why?" 

"Because  if  whiskers  make  Populists,  I  don't  blame  this 
state  for  going  Pop.  A  fellow'd  have  to  grow  some  kind 
of  natural  chest  protector  in  self-defence.  Look  at  that 
snow!  And  thirty  dollars  will  take  you  out  where  there's 
none  of  it,  and  the  soil's  better,  and  you  can  see  something 
around  you  besides  fresh  air.  Why,  any  one  of  these  poor 
pinhead  farmers  could  come  out  our  way,  get  twenty  acres 
of  irrigated  land,  and  in  five  years " 

"Hold  on!"  cried  Bob,  "you  haven't  by  any  chance  some 
of  that  real  estate  for  sale  —  or  a  sandbag?" 

Baker  laughed. 

"Everybody  gets  that  way,"  said  he.  "I'll  bet  the  first 
five  men  you  meet  will  fill  you  up  on  statistics." 

He  knew  the  country  well,  and  pointed  out  in  turn  the 
first  low  rises  of  the  prairie  swell,  and  the  distant  Rockies 
like  a  faint  blue  and  white  cloud  close  down  along  the  horizon. 
Bob  had  never  seen  any  real  mountains  before,  and  so  was 

130 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  131 

much  interested.  The  train  laboured  up  the  grades,  steep 
to  the  engine,  but  insignificant  to  the  eye;  it  passed  through 
the  canons  to  the  broad  central  plateau.  The  country  was 
broken  and  strange,  with  its  wide,  free  sweeps,  its  sage 
brush,  its  stunted  trees,  but  it  was  not  mountainous  as  Bob 
had  conceived  mountains.  Baker  grinned  at  him. 

"Snowclad  peaks  not  up  to  specifications?"  he  inquired. 
"Chromos  much  better?  Mountain  grandeur  somewhat 
on  the  blink?  Where'd  you  expect  them  to  put  a  railroad 
—  out  where  the  scenery  is  ?  Never  mind.  Wait  till  you 
slide  off  'Cape  Horn'  into  California." 

The  cold  weather  followed  them  to  the  top  of  the  Sierras. 
Snow,  dull  clouds,  mists  and  cold  enveloped  the  train. 
Miles  of  snowsheds  necessitated  keeping  the  artificial  light 
burning  even  at  midday.  Winter  held  them  in  its  grip. 

Then  one  morning  they  rounded  the  bold  corner  of  a  high 
mountain.  Far  below  them  dropped  away  the  lesser  peaks, 
down  a  breathless  descent.  And  from  beneath,  so  distant 
as  to  draw  over  themselves  a  tender  veil  of  pearl  gray,  flowed 
out  foothills  and  green  plains.  The  engine  coughed,  shut 
off  the  roar  of  her  exhaust.  The  train  glided  silently  forward. 

"Now  come  to  the  rear  platform,"  Baker  advised. 

They  sat  in  the  open  air  while  the  train  rushed  downward. 
From  the  great  drifts  they  ran  to  the  soft,  melting  snow,  then 
to  the  mud  and  freshness  of  early  spring.  Small  boys 
crowded  early  wild-flowers  on  them  whenever  they  stopped 
at  the  small  towns  built  on  the  red  clay.  The  air  became 
indescribably  soft  and  balmy,  full  of  a  gentle  caress.  At  the 
next  station  the  children  brought  oranges.  A  little  farther 
the  foothill  ranches  began  to  show  the  brightness  of  flowers. 
The  most  dilapidated  hovel  was  glorified  by  splendid  sprays 
of  red  roses  big  as  cabbages.  Dooryards  of  the  tiniest 
shacks  blazed  with  red  and  yellow.  Trees  and  plants  new 
to  Bob's  experience  and  strangely  and  delightfully  exotic 
in  suggestion  began  to  usurp  the  landscape.  To  the  far 
Northerner,  brought  up  in  only  a  common-school  knowledge 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

of  olive  trees,  palms,  eucalyptus,  oranges,  banana  trees, 
pomegranates  and  the  ordinary  semi-tropical  fruits,  there  is 
something  delightful  and  wonderful  in  the  first  sight  of  them 
living  and  flourishing  in  the  open.  When  closer  investigation 
reveals  a  whole  series  of  which  he  probably  does  not  remem- 
ber ever  to  have  heard,  he  feels  indeed  an  explorer  in  a  new 
and  wonderful  land.  After  a  few  months  these  things  become 
old  stories.  They  take  their  places  in  his  cosmos  as  accus- 
tomed things.  He  is  then  at  some  pains  to  understand  his 
visitor's  extravagant  interest  and  delight  over  loquats, 
chiramoyas,  alligator  pears,  tamarinds,  guavas,  the  bloom- 
mg  of  century  plants,  the  fruits  of  chollas  and  the  like. 
Baker  pointed  out  some  of  these  things  to  Bob. 

"Winter  to  summer  in  two  jumps  and  a  hop,"  said  he. 
"The  come-on  stuff  rings  the  bell  in  this  respect,  anyway. 
Smell  the  air:  it's  real  air.  ' Listen  to  the  mocking  bird.'  ' 

"  Seriously  or  figuratively  ?  "  asked  Bob.  "  I  mean,  is  that 
a  real  mocking  bird?" 

"  Surest  thing  you  know,"  replied  Baker  as  the  train  moved 
on,  leaving  the  songster  to  his  ecstasies.  "They  sing  all 
night  out  here.  Sounds  fine  when  you  haven't  a  grouch. 
Then  you  want  to  collect  a  brick  and  drive  the  darn  fowl  off 
the  reservation." 

"I  never  saw  one  before  outside  a  cage,"  said  Bob. 

"There's  lots  of  things  you  haven't  seen  that  you're  going 
to  see,  now  you've  got  out  to  the  Real  Thing,"  said  Baker. 
"Why,  right  in  your  own  line:  you  don't  know  what  big  pine 
is.  Wait  till  you  see  the  woods  out  here.  We've  got  the 
biggest  trees,  and  the  biggest  mountains,  and  the  biggest 
crops  and  the  biggest " 

"Liars,"  broke  in  Bob,  laughing.     "Don't  forget  them." 

"Yes,  the  biggest  liars,  too,"  agreed  Baker.  "A  man's 
got  to  lie  big  out  here  to  keep  in  practice  so  he  can  tell  the 
plain  truth  without  straining  himself." 

Before  they  changed  cars  to  the  Valley  line,  Baker  had  a 
suggestion  to  make. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  133 

"Look  here,"  said  he,  "why  don't  you  come  and  look  at 
the  tall  buildings?  You  can't  do  anything  in  the  mountains 
yet,  and  when  you  get  going  you'll  be  too  busy  to  see  Cali- 
fornia. Come,  make  a  pasear.  Glad  to  show  you  the  sights* 
Get  reckless.  Take  a  chance.  Peruse  carefully  your  copy 
of  Rules  for  Rubes  and  try  it  on." 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  Welton,  unexpectedly. 


Ill 

BO B  went  on  to  Los  Angeles  with  the  sprightly  Baker. 
At  first  glance  the  city  seemed  to  him  like  any  other. 
Then,  as  he  wandered  its  streets,  the  marvel  and 
vigour  and  humour  of  the  place  seized  on  him. 

" Don't  you  suppose  I  see  the  joke?"  complained  Baker 
at  the  end  of  one  of  their  long  trolley  rides.  "  Just  get  onto 
that  house;  it  looks  like  a  mission-style  switch  engine.  And 
the  one  next  to  it,  built  to  shed  snow.  Funny!  sure  it's  funny. 
But  you  ain't  talking  to  me !  It's  alive !  Those  fellows  wanted 
something  different  from  anybody  else  —  so  does  everybody. 
After  they'd  used  up  the  regular  styles,  they  had  to  make 
'em  up  out  of  the  fresh  air.  But  anyway,  they  weren't  satis- 
fied just  to  copy  Si  Golosh's  idea  of  a  Noah's  Ark  chicken 
coop." 

They  stopped  opposite  very  elaborate  and  impressive  iron 
gates  opening  across  a  graded  street.  These  gates  were  sup- 
ported by  a  pair  of  stone  towers  crowned  with  tiles.  A 
smaller  pair  of  towers  and  gates  guarded  the  concrete  side- 
walk. As  a  matter  of  fact,  all  these  barriers  enclosed  nothing, 
for  even  in  the  remote  possibility  that  the  inquiring  visitor 
should  find  them  shut,  an  insignificant  detour  would  cir- 
cumvent their  fenceless  flanks. 

"Maudsley  Court,"  Bob  read  sculptured  on  one  of  the 
towers. 

"That  makes  this  particular  subdivision  mighty  exclusive," 
grinned  Baker.  "Now  if  you  were  a  homeseeker  wouldn't 
you  love  to  bring  your  dinner  pail  back  to  the  cawstle  every 
night?" 

Bob  peered  down  the  single  street.     It  was  graded,  gut- 

134 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  135 

tered  and  sidewalked.  A  small  sentry  box  labelled  "  office," 
and  inscribed  with  glowing  eulogiums,  occupied  a  strategic 
position  near  the  gates.  From  this  house  Bob  immediately 
became  aware  of  close  scrutiny  by  a  man  half  concealed  by  the 
indoor  dimness. 

"The  spider,"  said  Baker.  "He's  onto  us  big  as  a  house. 
He  can  spot  a  yap  at  four  hundred  yards'  range,  and  you  bet 
they  don't  get  much  nearer  than  that  alone." 

A  huge  sign  shrieked  of  Maudsley  Court.  "Get  a  grin!" 
was  its  first  advice. 

"They  all  try  for  a  catchword  —  every  one  of  'em," 
explained  Baker.  "You'll  see  all  kinds  in  the  ads;  some 
pretty  good,  most  of  'em  rotten." 

"They  seem  to  have  made  a  start,  anyway,"  observed  Bob, 
indicating  a  new  cottage  half  way  down  the  street.  It  was 
a  super-artistic  structure,  exhibiting  the  ends  of  huge  brown 
beams  at  all  points.  Baker  laughed. 

"That's  what  it's  intended  to  seem,"  said  he.  "That's 
the  come-on  house.  It's  built  by  the  spider.  It's  stick-um 
for  the  flies.  'This  is  going  to  be  a  high-brow  proposition/ 
says  the  intending  purchaser;  'look  at  the  beautiful  house 
already  up.  I  must  join  this  young  and  thriving  colony.' 
Hence  this  settled  look." 

He  waved  his  hand  abroad.  Dotted  over  the  low,  rounded 
hills  of  the  charming  landscapes  were  new  and  modern 
bungalows.  They  were  spaced  widely,  and  each  was  flanked 
by  an  advertising  board  and  guarded  by  a  pair  of  gates  shut- 
ting their  private  thoroughfares  from  the  country  highways. 
Between  them  showed  green  the  new  crops. 

"Nine  out  of  ten  come-on  houses,"  said  Baker,  "and 
all  exclusive.  If  you  can't  afford  iron  gates,  you  can  at  least 
put  up  a  pair  of  shingled  pillars.  It's  the  game." 

"Will  these  lots  ever  be  sold?"  asked  Bob. 

"  Out  here,  yes,"  replied  Baker.  "  That's  part  of  the  joke. 
The  methods  are  on  the  blink,  but  the  goods  insist  on  deliv- 
ering themselves.  Most  of  these  fellows  are  just  bunks  or 


136          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

optimists.  All  hands  are  surprised  when  things  turn  out  right. 
But  if  all  the  lots  are  ever  sold,  Los  Angeles  will  have  a  popu- 
lation of  five  million." 

They  boarded  an  inward-bound  trolley.  Bob  read  the 
devices  as  they  flashed  past.  "  Hill-top  Acres,"  he  read 
near  a  street  plastered  against  an  apparently  perpendicular 
hill.  "Buy  before  the  rise!"  advised  this  man's  rival  at 
its  foot.  The  true  suburbs  strung  by  in  a  panorama  of 
strange  little  houses  —  imitation  Swiss  chalets  jostling  bas- 
tard Moorish,  cobblestones  elbowing  plaster  —  a  bewilder- 
ing succession  of  forced  effects.  Baker  caught  Bob's 
expression. 

"These  are  workingmen's  and  small  clerks'  houses,"  he 
said  quietly.  "  Pretty  bad,  eh  ?  But  they're  trying.  Remem- 
ber what  they  lived  in  back  East. " 

Bob  recalled  the  square,  painted,  ugly,  featureless  boxes 
built  all  after  the  same  pattern  of  dreariness.  He  looked 
on  this  gay  bewilderment  of  bad  taste  with  more  interest. 

"At  least  they're  taking  notice,"  said  Baker,  lighting  his 
pipe.  "And  every  fellow  raises  some  kind  of  posies." 

A  few  moments  later  they  plunged  into  the  vortex  of 
the  city  and  the  smiling  country,  the  far  plains  toward  the 
sea,  and  the  circle  of  the  mountains  were  lost.  Only 
remained  overhead  the  blue  of  the  California  sky. 

Baker  led  the  way  toward  a  blaring  basement  restaurant. 

"I'm  beginning  to  feel  that  I'll  have  to  find  some  monkey- 
food  somewhere,  or  cash  in,"  said  he. 

They  found  a  table  and  sat  down. 

"This  is  the  place  to  see  all  the  sights,"  proffered  Baker, 
his  broad  face  radiating  satisfaction.  "When  they  strike 
it  rich  on  the  desert,  they  hike  right  in  here.  That  fat  lady 
thug  yonder  is  worth  between  three  and  four  millions.  Eight 
months  ago  she  did  washing  at  two  bits  a  shirt  while  her  hus- 
band drove  a  one-man  prospect  shaft.  The  other  day  she 
blew  into  the  big  jewelry  store  and  wanted  a  thirty-thousand- 
dollar  diamond  necklace.  The  boss  rolled  over  twice  and 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          137 

wagged  his  tail.  'Yes,  madam/  said  he;  'what  kind?' 
'I  dunno;  just  a  thirty-thousand-dollar  one.'  That's  all  he 
could  get  out  of  her.  'But  tell  me  how  you  want  'em  set,' 
he  begged.  She  looked  bewildered.  '  Oh,  set  'em  so  they  II 
jingle,'  says  she." 

After  the  meal  they  walked  down  the  principal  streets, 
watching  the  crowd.  It  was  a  large  crowd,  as  though  at  busy 
midday,  and  variously  apparelled,  from  fur  coat  to  straw 
hat.  Each  extreme  of  costume  seemed  justified,  either  by  the 
balmy  summer-night  effect  of  the  California  open  air,  or  by 
the  hint  of  chill  that  crept  from  the  distant  mountains. 
Either  aspect  could  be  welcomed  or  ignored  by  a  very  slight 
effort  of  the  will.  Electric  signs  blazed  everywhere.  Bob 
was  struck  by  the  numbers  of  clairvoyants,  palm  readers, 
Hindu  frauds,  crazy  cults,  fake  healers,  Chinese  doctors, 
and  the  like  thus  lavishly  advertised.  The  class  that  else- 
where is  pressed  by  necessity  to  the  inexpensive  dinginess  of 
back  streets,  here  blossomed  forth  in  truly  tropical  luxur- 
iance. Street  vendors  with  all  sorts  of  things,  from  mechan- 
ical toys  to  spot  eradicators,  spread  their  portable  lay-outs 
at  every  corner.  Vacant  lots  were  crowded  with  spielers  of 
all  sorts  —  religious  or  political  fanatics,  vendors  of  cure- 
alls,  of  universal  tools,  of  marvellous  axle  grease,  of  anything 
and  everything  to  catch  the  idle  dollar.  Brilliantly  lighted 
shops  called  the  passer-by  to  contemplate  the  latest  wave- 
motor,  flying  machine,  door  check,  or  what-not.  Stock  in 
these  enterprises  was  for  sale  —  and  was  being  sold!  Other 
sidewalk  booths,  like  those  ordinarily  used  as  dispensaries 
of  hot  doughnuts  and  coffee,  offered  wild-cat  mining  shares, 
oil  stock  and  real  estate  in  some  highly  speculative  suburb. 
Great  stores  of  curios  lay  open  to  the  tourist  trade.  Here 
one  could  buy  sheepskin  Indian  moccasins  made  in  Massa- 
chusetts, or  abalone  shells,  or  burnt-leatner  pillows,  or  a 
whole  collection  of  photographic  views  so  minute  that  they 
could  all  be  packed  in  a  single  walnut  shell.  Next  door 
were  shops  of  Japanese  and  Chinese  goods  presided  over  by 


138          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

suave,  sleepy-eyed  Orientals,  in  wonderful  brocade,  wearing 
the  close  cap  with  the  red  coral  button  atop.  Shooting  gal- 
leries spit  spitefully.  Gasolene  torches  flared. 

Baker  strolled  along,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  hat  on 
the  back  of  his  head.  From  time  to  time  he  cast  an  amused 
glance  at  his  companion. 

"Come  in  here,"  he  said  abruptly. 

Bob  found  himself  comfortably  seated  in  a  commodious 
open-air  theatre,  watching  an  excellent  vaudeville  perform- 
ance. He  enjoyed  it  thoroughly,  for  it  was  above  the  average. 
In  fifteen  minutes,  however,  the  last  soubrette  disappeared 
in  the  wings  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  swirl  of  music.  Her 
place  was  taken  by  a  tall,  facetious-looking,  bald  individual, 
clad  in  a  loose  frock  coat.  He  held  up  his  hand  for  silence. 

"Ladies  'n'  gentlemen,"  he  drawled,  "we  hope  you  have 
enjoyed  yourselves.  If  you  find  a  better  show  than  this  in 
any  theatre  in  town,  barring  the  Orpheum,  come  and  tell 
us  about  it  and  we  will  see  what  we  can  do  to  brace  ours  up. 
I  don't  believe  you  can.  This  show  will  be  repeated  every 
afternoon  and  evening,  with  complete  change  of  programme 
twice  a  week.  Go  away  and  tell  your  friends  about  the  great 
free  show  down  on  Spring  Street.  Just  tell  them  about  it." 

Bob  glanced  startled  at  his  companion.  Baker  was  grin- 
ning. 

"This  show  has  cost  us  up  to  date,"  went  on  the  leisurely 
drawl,  "just  twenty-eight  hundred  dollars.  Go  and  tell 
your  friends  that.  But" —  he  suddenly  straightened  his  fig- 
ure and  his  voice  became  more  incisive — "  that  is  not  enough. 
We  have  decided  to  give  you  something  real  to  talk  about. 
We  have  decided  to  give  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  this 
vast  audience  a  first-night  present  of  Two  Silver  Dollars!" 

Bob  could  feel  an  electric  thrill  run  through  the  crowd, 
and  every  one  sat  up  a  little  straighter  in  his  chair. 

"Let  me  see,"  the  orator  went  on,  running  his  eye  over  the 
audience.  He  had  resumed  his  quieter  manner.  "There 
are  perhaps  seven  hundred  people  present.  That  would 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  139 

make  fourteen  hundred  dollars.  By  the  way,  John,"  he 
addressed  some  one  briskly.  "Close  the  gates  and  lock 
them.  We  don't  want  anybody  in  on  this  who  didn't  have 
interest  enough  in  our  show  to  come  in  the  first  place."  He 
winked  humorously  at  the  crowd,  and  several  laughed. 

"  Pretty  rotten,  eh  ?  "  whispered  Baker  admiringly.  "  Fixed 
'em  so  they  won't  bolt  when  the  show's  over  and  before  he 
works  off  his  dope." 

"  These  Two  Silver  Dollars,  which  I  want  you  all  to  get, 
are  in  these  hampers.  Six  little  boys  will  distribute  them. 
Come  up,  boys,  and  get  each  a  hatful  of  dollars."  The  six 
solemnly  marched  up  on  the  stage  and  busied  themselves 
with  the  hampers.  "While  we  are  waiting,"  went  on  the 
orator,  "I  will  seize  the  opportunity  to  present  to  you 
the  world-famed  discoverer  of  that  wonderful  anaesthetic, 
Oxodyne,  Painless  Porter." 

At  the  words  a  dapper  little  man  in  immaculately  correct 
evening  dress,  and  carrying  a  crush  hat  under  his  arm, 
stepped  briskly  from  the  wings.  He  was  greeted  by  wild 
but  presumably  manufactured  applause.  He  bowed  rigidly 
from  the  hips,  and  at  once  began  to  speak  in  a  high  and  nasal 
but  extremely  penetrating  voice. 

"As  far  as  advertising  is  concerned,"  he  began  without 
preamble,  "it  is  entirely  unnecessary  that  I  give  this  show. 
There  is  no  man,  woman  or  child  in  this  marvellous  common- 
wealth of  ours  who  is  not  familiar  with  the  name  of  Painless 
Porter,  whether  from  the  daily  papers,  the  advertising  boards, 
the  street  cars,  or  the  elegant  red  brougham  in  which  I  trav- 
erse your  streets.  My  work  for  you  is  my  best  advertise- 
ment. It  is  unnecessary  from  that  point  of  view  that  I 
spend  this  money  for  this  show, or  that  this  extra  money  should 
be  distributed  among  you  by  my  colleague,  Wizard  Walker, 
the  Medical  Marvel  of  Modern  Times." 

The  tall  man  paused  from  his  business  with  the  hampers 
and  the  six  boys  to  bow  in  acknowledgment. 

"  No,  ladies  'n'  gentlemen,  my  purpose  is  higher.     In  the 


140          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

breast  of  each  human  being  is  implanted  an  instinctive  fear 
of  Pain.  It  sits  on  us  like  a  nightmare,  from  the  time  we 
first  come  to  consciousness  of  our  surroundings.  It  is  a  curse 
of  humanity,  like  drink,  and  he  who  can  lighten  that  curse 
is  as  much  of  a  philanthropist  as  George  W.  Childs  or  Andrew 
Carnegie.  I  want  you  to  go  away  and  talk  about  me.  It 
don't  matter  what  you  say,  just  so  you  say  something.  You 
can  call  me  quack,  you  may  call  me  fakir,  you  may  call  me 
charletan  —  but  be  sure  to  call  me  SOMETHING!  Then 
slowly  the  news  will  spread  abroad  that  Pain  is  banished, 
and  I  can  smile  in  peace,  knowing  that  my  vast  expenditures 
of  time  and  money  have  not  been  in  vain,  and  that  I  have 
been  a  benefit  to  humanity.  Wizard  Walker,  the  Medical 
Marvel  of  Modern  Times,  will  now  attend  to  the  distribu- 
tion, after  which  I  will  pull  a  few  teeth  gratis  in  order  to 
demonstrate  to  you  the  wonderful  merits  of  Oxodyne." 

"A  dentist!"  gasped  Bob. 

"Yup,"  said  Baker.  "Not  much  gasoline-torch-on-the- 
back-lot  in  his,  is  there  ?" 

Bob  was  hardly  surprised,  after  much  preamble  and  height- 
ening of  suspense,  to  find  that  the  Two  Silver  Dollars  turned 
out  finally  to  be  a  pink  ticket  and  a  blue  ticket, "  good  respect- 
ively at  the  luxurious  offices  for  one  dollar's  worth  of  dental 
and  medical  attention  FREE." 

Nor  was  he  more  than  slightly  astounded  when  the  back 
drop  rose  to  show  the  stage  set  glitteringly  with  nickel- 
mounted  dentist  chairs  and  their  appurtenances,  with 
shining  glass,  white  linen,  and  with  a  chorus  of  fascinating 
damsels  dressed  as  trained  nurses  and  standing  rigidly  at 
attention.  Then  entered  Painless  himself,  in  snowy  shirt- 
sleeves and  serious  professional  preoccupation.  Volunteers 
came  up  two  by  two.  Painless  explained  obscurely  the 
scientific  principles  on  which  the  marvellous  Oxodyne  worked 
—  by  severing  temporarily  but  entirely  all  communication 
between  the  nerves  and  the  brain.  Then  much  business 
with  a  very  glittering  syringe. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  141 

"My  lord,"  chuckled  Baker,  "if  he  fills  that  thing  up,  it'll 
drown  her!" 

In  an  impressive  silence  Painless  flourished  the  forceps, 
planted  himself  square  in  front  of  his  patient,  heaved  a  mom- 
ent, and  triumphantly  held  up  in  full  view  an  undoubted 
tooth.  The  trained  nurses  offered  rinses.  After  a  moment 
the  patient,  a  roughly  dressed  country  woman,  arose  to  her 
feet.  She  was  smiling  broadly,  and  said  something,  which 
the  audience  could  not  hear.  Painless  smiled  indulgently. 

"  Speak  up  so  they  can  all  hear  you,"  he  encouraged  her. 

"  Never  hurt  a  bit,"  the  woman  stammered. 

Three  more  operations  were  conducted  as  expeditiously 
and  as  successfully.  The  audience  was  evidently  impressed. 

"How  does  he  do  it?"  whispered  Bob. 

"Cappers,"  explained  Baker  briefly.  "He  only  fakes 
pulling  a  tooth.  Watch  him  next  time  and  you'll  see  that  he 
doesn't  actually  pull  an  ounce." 

"Suppose  a  real  toothache  comes  up?" 

"  I  think  that  is  one  now.     Watch  him. " 

A  young  ranchman  was  making  his  way  up  the  steps 
that  led  to  the  stage.  His  skin  was  tanned  by  long  exposure 
to  the  California  sun,  and  his  cheek  rounded  into  an  unmis- 
takable swelling. 

"No  fake  about  him,"  commented  Baker. 

He  seated  himself  in  the  chair.  Painless  examined  his 
jaw  carefully.  He  started  back,  both  hands  spread  in  expos- 
tulation. 

"My  dear  friend!"  he  cried,  "you  can  save  that  tooth! 
It  would  be  a  crime  to  pull  that  tooth!  Come  to  my  office 
at  ten  to-morrow  morning  and  I  will  see  what  can  be  done." 
He  turned  to  the  audience  and  for  ten  minutes  expounded 
the  doctrine  of  modern  dentistry  as  it  stands  for  saving  a 
tooth  whenever  possible.  Incidentally  he  had  much  to  say 
as  to  his  skill  in  filling  and  bridge  work  and  the  marvellous 
painlessness  thereof.  The  meeting  broke  up  finally  to  the 
inspiring  strains  of  a  really  good  band.  Bob  and  his  friend, 


142  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

standing  near  the  door,  watched  the  audience  file  out. 
Some  threw  away  their  pink  and  blue  tickets,  but  most 
stowed  them  carefully  away. 

"And  every  one  that  goes  to  the  'luxurious  offices'  for  the 
free  dollar's  worth  will  leave  ten  round  iron  ones,"  said 
Baker. 

After  a  moment  the  Painless  One  and  the  Wizard  marched 
smartly  out,  serenely  oblivious  of  the  crowd.  They  stepped 
into  a  resplendent  red  brougham  and  were  whisked  rapidly 
away. 

"It  pays  to  advertise,"  quoted  Baker  philosophically. 

They  moved  on  up  the  street. 

"There's  the  inventor  of  the  Unlimited  Life,"  said  Baker 
suddenly,  indicating  a  slender  figure  approaching.  "I 
haven't  seen  him  in  three  years  —  not  since  he  got  into  this 
graft,  anyway." 

"Unlimited  Life,"  echoed  Bob,  "what's  that?  A  medi- 
cine?" 

"  No.     A  cult.     Hullo,  Sunny ! " 

The  approaching  figure  swerved  and  stopped.  Bob  saw 
a  very  slender  figure  clad  in  a  close-fitting,  gray  frock  suit. 
To  his  surprise,  from  beneath  the  wide,  black  felt  hat  there 
peered  at  him  the  keenly  nervous  face  of  the  more  intelligent 
mulatto.  The  man's  eyes  were  very  bright  and  shrewd. 
His  hair  surrounded  his  face  as  an  aureole  of  darkness,  and 
swept  low  to  his  coat  collar. 

"Mr.  Baker,"  he  said,  simply,  his  eyes  inscrutable. 

"Well,  Sunny,  this  is  my  old  friend  Bob  Orde.  Bob,  this 
is  the  world-famous  Sunny  Larue,  apostle  of  the  Unlimited 
Life  of  whom  you've  heard  so  much."  He  winked  at  Bob. 
"How's  the  Colony  flourishing,  Sunny?" 

"More  and  more  our  people  are  growing  to  see  the  light," 
said  the  mulatto  in  low,  musical  tones.  "The  mighty  but 
simple  principles  of  Azamud  are  coming  into  their  own.  The 
poor  and  lowly,  the  humble  and  oppressed  are  learning  that 
in  me  is  their  salvation "  He  went  on  in  his  beautiful 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  143 

voice  explaining  the  Colony  of  the  Unlimited  Life,  addressing 
always  Bob  directly  and  paying  little  attention  to  Baker, 
who  stood  aside,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  a  smile  on  his  fat, 
good-natured  face.  It  seemed  that  the  Colony  lived  in  tents 
in  a  canon  of  the  foothills.  It  paid  Larue  fifty  dollars  a  head, 
and  in  return  was  supported  for  six  months  and  instructed 
in  the  mysteries  of  the  cult.  It  had  its  regimen.  "  At  three  we 
arise  and  break  our  fast,  quite  simply,  with  three  or  four  dry 
prunes,"  breathed  Larue,  "and  then,  going  forth  to  the  high 
places  for  one  hour,  we  hold  steadfast  the  thought  of  Love." 

"Say,  Sunny,"  broke  in  Baker,  "how  many  you  got 
rounded  up  now?" 

"There  are  at  present  twenty-one  earnest  proselytes." 

"  At  fifty  a  head  —  and  you've  got  to  feed  and  keep  'em 
somehow  —  even  three  dried  prunes  cost  you  something  in 
the  long  run  " —  ruminated  Baker.  He  turned  briskly  to  the 
mulatto :  "  Sunny,  on  the  dead,  where  does  the  graft  come  in?" 

The  mulatto  drew  himself  up  in  swift  offence,  scrutinized 
Bob  closely  for  a  moment,  met  Baker's  grin.  Abruptly  his 
impressive  manner  dropped  from  him.  He  leaned  toward 
them  with  a  captivating  flash  of  white  teeth. 

"You  just  leave  that  to  vie"  he  murmured,  and  glided 
away  into  the  crowd. 

Baker  laughed  and  drew  Bob's  arm  within  his  own. 

"Out  of  twenty  of  the  faithful  there's  sure  to  be  one  or 
two  with  life  savings  stowed  away  in  a  sock,  and  Sunny's 
the  boy  to  make  them  produce  the  sock." 

"What's  his  cult,  anyway?"  asked  Bob.  "I  mean,  what 
do  they  pretend  to  believe?  I  couldn't  make  out." 

"A  nigger's  idea  of  Buddhism,"  replied  Baker  briefly. 
"  But  you  can  get  any  brand  of  psychic  damfoolishness  you 
think  you  need  in  your  business.  They  do  it  all,  here,  from 
going  barefoot,  eating  nuts,  swilling  olive  oil,  rolling  down  hill, 
adoring  the  Limitless  Whichness,  and  all  the  works.  It  is 
now,"  he  concluded,  looking  at  his  watch,  "  about  ten  o'clock. 
We  will  finish  the  evening  by  dropping  in  on  the  Fuzzies." 


144          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Together  they  boarded  a  street  car,  which  shortly  depos- 
ited them  at  an  uptown  corner.  Large  houses  and  spacious 
grounds  indicated  a  district  of  some  wealth.  To  one  of  these 
houses,  brilliantly  lighted,  Baker  directed  his  steps. 

"But  I  don't  know  these  people,  and  I'm  not  properly 
dressed,"  objected  Bob. 

"They  know  me.  And  as  for  dress,  if  you'd  arrange  to 
wear  a  chaste  feather  duster  only,  you'd  make  a  hit." 

A  roomful  of  people  were  buzzing  like  a  hive.  Most  were 
in  conventional  evening  dress.  Here  and  there,  however, 
Bob  caught  hints  of  masculine  long  hair,  of  feminine  psyche 
knots,  bandeaux  and  other  extremely  artistic  but  unusual 
departures.  One  man  with  his  dinner  jacket  wore  a  soft 
linen  shirt  perforated  by  a  Mexican  drawn-work  pattern 
beneath  which  glowed  a  bright  red  silk  undergarment. 
Women's  gowns  on  the  flowing  and  Grecian  order  were  not 
uncommon.  These  were  usually  coupled  with  the  incongru- 
ity of  parted  hair  brought  low  and  madonna-wise  over  the 
ears.  As  the  two  entered,  a  very  powerful  blond  man  was 
just  finishing  the  declamation  of  a  French  poem.  He  was 
addressing  it  directly  at  two  women  seated  on  a  sofa. 

"  Un  r-r-reve  d?  amour!" 

He  concluded  with  much  passion  and  clasped  hands. 

In  the  rustle  ensuing  after  this  effort,  Baker  led  his  friend 
down  the  room  to  a  very  fat  woman  upholstered  in  pink 
satin,  to  whom  he  introduced  Bob.  Mrs.  Annis,  for  such 
proved  to  be  her  name,  welcomed  him  effusively. 

"I've  heard  so  much  about  you!"  she  cried  vivaciously,  to 
Bob's  vast  astonishment.  She  tapped  him  on  the  arm  with  her 
fan.  "I'm  going  to  make  a  confession  to  you;  I  know  it  may  be 
foolish,  but  I  do  like  music  so  much  better  than  I  do  pictures." 

Bob,  his  brain  whirling,  muttered  something. 

"But  I'm  going  to  confess  to  you  again,  I  like  artists  so 
much  better  than  I  do  musicians." 

A  light  dawned  on  Bob.  "But  I'm  not  an  artist  nor  a 
musician,"  he  blurted  out. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  145 

The  pink-upholstered  lady,  starting  back  with  an  agility 
remarkable  in  one  of  her  size,  clasped  her  hands. 

"Don't  tell  me  you  write!"  she  cried  dramatically. 

"All  right,  I  won't,"  protested  poor  Bob,  "for  I  don't." 

A  slow  expression  of  bewilderment  overspread  Mrs.  Annis's 
face,  and  she  glanced  toward  Baker  with  an  arched  brow 
of  interrogation. 

"I  merely  wanted  Mr.  Orde  to  meet  you,  Mrs.  Annis,"  he 
said  impressively,  "and  to  feel  that  another  time,  when  he 
is  less  exhausted  by  the  strain  of  a  long  day,  he  may  have 
the  privilege  of  explaining  to  you  the  details  of  the  great 
Psychic  Movement  he  is  inaugurating." 

Mrs.  Annis  smiled  on  him  graciously.  "I  am  home 
every  Sunday  to  my  intimes"  she  murmured.  "I  should 
be  so  pleased." 

Bob  bowed  mechanically. 

"You  infernal  idiot!"  he  ground  out  savagely  to  Baker, 
as  they  moved  away.  "What  do  you  mean?  I'll  punch 
your  fool  head  when  I  get  you  out  of  here!" 

But  the  plump  young  man  merely  smiled. 

Halfway  down  the  room  a  group  of  attractive-looking 
young  men  hailed  them. 

"Join  in,  Baker,"  said  they.  "Bring  your  friend  along. 
We're  just  going  to  raid  the  commissary." 

But  Baker  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  showing  him  life,"  he  replied.  "None  but  Fuzzies 
in  his  to-night !" 

He  grasped  Bob  firmly  by  the  arm  and  led  him  away. 

"That,"  he  said,  indicating  a  very  pale  young  man,  sur- 
rounded by  women,  "is  Pickering,  the  celebrated  sub- 
marine painter." 

"The  what?"  demanded  Bob. 

"Submarine  painter.  He  paints  fish  and  green  water 
and  lobsters,  and  the  bottom  of  the  sea  generally.  He 
paints  them  on  the  skins  of  kind-faced  little  calves." 

"What  does  he  do  that  for?" 


146  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"He  says  it's  the  only  surface  that  will  express  what  he 
wants  to.  He  has  also  invented  a  waterproof  paint  that 
he  can  use  under  water.  He  has  a  coral  throne  down  on 
the  bottom  which  he  sits  in,  and  paints  as  long  as  he  can 
hold  his  breath." 

"Oh,  he  does!"  said  Bob. 

"Yes,"  said  Baker. 

"But  a  man  can't  see  three  feet  in  front  of  his  face  under 
water!"  cried  Bob. 

"Pickering  says  he  can.  He  paints  submarinescapes, 
and  knows  all  the  fishes.  He  says  fishes  have  individual 
expressions.  He  claims  he  can  tell  by  a  fish's  expression 
whether  he  is  polygamous  or  monogamous." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  anybody  swallows  that  rot!" 
demanded  Bob  indignantly. 

"  The  women  do  —  and  a  lot  more  I  can't  remember.  The 
market  for  calf-skins  with  green  swirls  on  them  is  booming. 
Also  the  women  clubbed  together  and  gave  him  money 
enough  to  build  a  house." 

Bob  surveyed  the  little  white-faced  man  with  a  strong 
expression  of  disgust. 

"The  natural  man  never  sits  in  chairs,"  the  artist  was 
exppunding.  "When  humanity  shall  have  come  into  its 
own  we  shall  assume  the  graceful  aid  hygienic  postures  of 
the  oriental  peoples.  In  society  one  must,  to  a  certain  extent, 
follow  convention,  but  in  my  own  house,  the  House  Beau- 
tiful of  my  dreams,  are  no  chairs.  And  even  now  a  small 
group  of  the  freer  spirits  are  following  my  example.  In 
time " 

"If  you  don't  take  me  away,  I'll  run  in  circles!"  whis- 
pered Bob  fiercely  to  his  friend. 

They  escaped  into  the  open  air. 

"Phew!"  said  Bob,  straightening  his  long  form.  "Is 
that  what  you  call  the  good  society  here?" 

"Good  society  is  there,"  amended  Baker.  "That's  the 
joke.  There  are  lots  of  nice  people  in  this  little  old  town, 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          147 

people  who  lisp  our  language  fluently.  They  are  all  mixed 
in  with  the  Fuzzies." 

They  decided  to  walk  home.  Bob  marvelled  at  the 
impressive  and  substantial  buildings,  at  the  atrocious  streets. 
He  spoke  of  the  beautiful  method  of  illuminating  one  of 
the  thoroughfares  —  by  globes  of  light  gracefully  supported 
in  clusters  on  branched  arms  either  side  the  roadway. 

"They  were  originally  bronze  —  and  they  went  and 
painted  them  a  mail-box  green,"  commented  Baker  drily. 

At  the  hotel  the  night  clerk,  a  young  man,  quietly  dressed 
and  with  an  engaging  air,  greeted  them  with  just  the  right 
amount  of  cordiality  as  he  handed  them  their  keys.  Bob 
paused  to  look  about  him. 

"This  is  a  good  hotel,"  he  remarked. 

"It's  one  of  the  best-managed,  the  best-conducted,  and 
the  best-appointed  hotels  in  the  United  States,"  said  Baker 
with  conviction. 

The  next  morning  Bob  bought  all  the  papers  and  glanced 
through  them  with  considerable  wonder  and  amusement. 
They  were  decidedly  metropolitan  in  size,  and  carried 
a  tremendous  amount  of  advertising.  Early  in  his  perusal 
he  caught  the  personal  bias  of  the  news.  Without  distor- 
tion to  the  point  of  literal  inaccuracy,  nevertheless  by  skil- 
ful use  of  headlines  and  by  manipulation  of  the  point  of  view, 
all  items  were  made  to  subserve  a  purpose.  In  local  affairs 
the  most  vulgar  nicknaming,  the  most  savage  irony,  vitupera- 
tion, scorn  and  contempt  were  poured  out  full  measure  on 
certain  individuals  unpopular  with  the  papers.  Such  epi- 
thets as  "lickspittle,"  "toad,"  "carcass  blown  with  the 
putrefying  gas  of  its  own  importance,"  were  read  in  the  body 
of  narration. 

"These  are  the  best-edited,  most  influential  and  powerful 
journals  in  the  West,"  commented  Baker.  "They  possess 
an  influence  inconceivable  to  an  Easterner." 

The  advertising  columns  were  filled  to  bursting  with 
advertisements  of  patent  medicines,  sex  remedies,  quack 


148          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

doctors,  miraculous  healers,  clairvoyants,  palm  readers, 
" philanthropists"  with  something  "free"  to  bestow,  clev- 
erly worded  offers  of  abortion;  with  full-page  prospectuses 
of  mines;  of  mushroom  industrial  concerns  having  to  do  with 
wave  motors,  water  motors,  solar  motors,  patent  couplers, 
improved  telephones  and  the  like,  all  of  whose  stock  now 
stood  at  $1.10,  but  which  on  April  zoth,  at  8.02  p.  M.,  would 
go  up  to  $1.15;  with  blaring,  shrieking  offers  of  real  estate 
in  this,  that  or  the  other  addition,  consisting,  as  Bob  knew 
from  yesterday,  of  farm  acreage  at  front-foot  figures.  The 
proportion  of  this  fake  advertising  was  astounding.  One 
in  particular  seemed  incredible  —  a  full  page  of  the  exponent 
of  some  Oriental  method  of  healing  and  prophecy. 

"  Of  course,  a  full-page  costs  money,"  replied  Baker.  "  But 
this  is  the  place  to  get  it."  He  pushed  back  his  chair.  "Well, 
what  do  you  think  of  our  fair  young  city  ?  "  he  grinned. 

"It's  got  me  going,"  admitted  Bob. 

"Took  me  some  time  to  find  out  where  to  get  off  at," 
said  Baker.  "  When  I  found  it  out,  I  didn't  dare  tell  anybody. 
They  mob  you  here  and  string  you  up  by  your  pigtail,  if 
you  try  to  hint  that  this  isn't  the  one  best  bet  on  terrestrial 
habitations.  They  like  their  little  place,  and  they  believe 
in  it  a  whole  lot,  and  they're  dead  right  about  it!  They'd 
stand  right  up  on  their  hind  legs  and  paw  the  atmosphere 
if  anybody  were  to  tell  them  what  they  really  are,  but  it's 
a  fact.  Same  joyous  slambang,  same  line  of  sharps  hanging 
on  the  outskirts,  same  row,  racket,  and  joy  in  life,  same 
struggle;  yes,  and  by  golly!  the  same  big  hopes  and  big 
enterprises  and  big  optimism  and  big  energies!  Wouldn't 
you  like  to  be  helping  them  do  it?" 

"What's  the  answer?"  asked  Bob,  amused. 

"Well,  for  all  its  big  buildings  and  its  electric  lights,  and 
trolleys,  and  police  and  size>  it's  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
a  frontier  town." 

"A  frontier  town!"  echoed  Bob. 

"You  think  it  over,"  said  Baker. 


IV 

BU  T  if  Bob  imagined  for  one  moment  that  he  had  ac- 
quired even  a  notion  of  California  in  his  experiences 
and  observations  down  the  San  Joaquin  and  in  Los 
Angeles,  the  next  few  stages  of  his  Sentimental  Journey 
very  soon  undeceived  him.  Baker's  business  interests  soon 
took  him  away.  Bob,  armed  with  letters  of  introduction 
from  his  friend,  visited  in  turn  such  places  as  Santa  Barbara, 
Riverside,  San  Diego,  Redlands  and  Pasadena.  He  could 
not  but  be  struck  by  the  absolute  differences  that  existed, 
not  only  in  the  physical  aspects  but  in  the  spirit  and  aims 
of  the  peoples.  If  these  communities  had  been  separated 
by  thousands  of  miles  of  distance  they  could  not  have  been 
more  unlike. 

At  one  place  he  found  the  semi-tropical  luxuriance  of 
flowers  and  trees  and  fruits,  the  soft,  warm  sunshine,  the 
tepid,  langourous,  musical  nights,  the  mellow  haze  of 
romance  over  mountain  and  velvet  hill  and  soft  sea,  the 
low-shaded  cottages,  the  leisurely  attractive  people  one 
associates  with  the  story-book  conception  of  California. 
The  place  was  charming  in  its  surroundings  and  in  its  graces 
of  life,  but  it  was  a  cheerful,  happy,  out-at-the-heels,  raggedy 
little  town,  whose  bright  gardens  adorned  its  abyssmal 
streets,  whose  beautiful  mountains  palliated  the  naivete*  of 
its  natural  and  atrocious  roads.  Bob  mingled  with  its 
people  with  the  pardonable  amusement  of  a  man  fresh  from 
the  doing  of  big  things.  There  seemed  to  be  such  long, 
grave  and  futile  discussions  over  the  undertaking  of  that 
which  a  more  energetic  community  would  do  as  a  matter 
of  course  in  the  day's  work.  The  liveryman  from  whom 

149 


150          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Bob  hired  his  saddle  horse  proved  to  be  a  person  of  a  leis- 
urely and  sardonic  humour. 

"Their  chief  asset  here  is  tourists,"  said  he.  " That's 
the  leading  industry.  They  can't  see  it,  and  they  don't  want 
to.  They  have  just  one  road  through  the  county.  It's  a 
bum  one.  You'd  think  it  was  a  dozen,  to  hear  them  talk 
about  the  immense  undertaking  of  making  it  halfway  decent. 
Any  other  place  would  do  these  things  they've  been  talking 
about  for  ten  years  just  on  the  side,  as  part  of  the  get-ready. 
Lucky  they  didn't  have  to  do  anything  in  the  way  of  getting 
those  mountains  set  proper,  or  there'd  be  a  hole  there  yet." 

"Why  don't  you  go  East?"  asked  Bob. 

"I  did  once.     Didn't  like  it." 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you.  Back  East  when  you  don't  do  noth- 
ing, you  feel  kind  of  guilty.  Out  here  when  you  don't  do 
nothing,  you  don't  give  a  damn!" 

Nevertheless,  Bob  was  very  sorry  when  he  had  to  leave 
this  quiet  and  beautiful  little  town,  with  its  happy,  care- 
less, charming  people. 

Thence  he  went  directly  to  a  town  built  in  a  half -circle  of 
the  mountains.  The  sunshine  here  was  warm  and  grate- 
ful, but  when  its  rays  were  withdrawn  a  stinging  chill  crept 
down  from  the  snow.  No  sitting  out  on  the  verandah  after 
dinner,  but  often  a  most  grateful  fire  in  the  Club's  fireplace. 
The  mornings  were  crisp  and  enlivening.  And  again  by 
the  middle  of  the  day  the  soft  California  warmth  laid  the 
land  under  its  spell. 

This  was  a  place  of  orange-growers,  young  fellows  from 
the  East.  Its  University  Club  was  large  and  prosperous. 
Its  streets  were  wide.  Flowers  lined  the  curbs.  There  were 
few  fences.  The  houses  were  in  good  taste.  Even  the 
telephone  poles  were  painted  green  so  as  to  be  unobtrusive. 
Bob  thought  it  one  of  the  most  attractive  places  he  had  ever 
seen,  as  indeed  it  should  be,  for  it  was  built  practically  to 
order  by  people  of  intelligence. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          151 

Thence  he  drove  through  miles  and  miles  of  orange  groves, 
so  large  that  the  numerous  workmen  go  about  their  work 
on  bicycles.  Even  here  in  the  country,  the  roadsides  were 
planted  with  palms  and  other  ornamental  trees,  and  gay  with 
flowers.  Abruptly  he  came  upon  a  squalid  village  of  the  old 
regime,  with  ugly  frame  houses,  littered  streets,  sagging  side- 
walks foul  with  puddles,  old  tin  cans,  rubbish;  populous 
with  children  and  women  in  back-yard  dressing  sacks  — 
a  distressing  reminder  of  the  worst  from  the  older-established 
countries.  And  again,  at  the  end  of  the  week,  he  most  unex- 
pectedly found  himself  seated  on  a  country-club  verandah, 
having  a  very  good  time,  indeed,  with  some  charming  speci- 
mens of  the  idle  rich.  He  talked  polo,  golf,  tennis  and 
horses;  he  dined  at  several  most  elaborate  " cottages";  he 
rode  forth  on  glossy,  bang-tailed  horses,  perfectly  appointed; 
he  drove  in  marvellously  conceived  traps  in  company  with 
most  engaging  damsels.  When,  finally,  he  reached  Los 
Angeles  again  he  carried  with  him,  as  standing  for  California, 
not  even  the  heterogeneous  but  fairly  coherent  idea  one 
usually  gains  of  a  single  commonwealth,  but  an  impression 
of  many  climes  and  many  peoples. 

"Yes,"  said  Baker,  "and  if  you'd  gone  North  to  where  I 
live,  you'd  have  struck  a  different  layout  entirely." 


THERE  remained  in  Bob's  initial  Southern  California 
experience  one  more  episode  that  brought  him  an 
acquaintance,  apparently  casual,  but  which  later 
was  to  influence  him. 

Of  an  afternoon  he  walked  up  Main  Street  idly  and  alone. 
The  exhibit  of  a  real  estate  office  attracted  him.  Over  the 
door,  in  place  of  a  sign,  hung  a  huge  stretched  canvas  depict- 
ing not  too  rudely  a  wide  country-side  dotted  with  model 
farms  of  astounding  prosperity.  The  window  was  filled 
with  pumpkins,  apples,  oranges,  sheaves  of  wheat,  bottles 
full  of  r>oft  fruits  preserved  in  alcohol,  and  the  like.  As 
background  was  an  oil  painting  in  which  the  Lucky  Lands 
occupied  a  spacious  pervading  foreground,  while  in  clever 
perspectives  the  Coast  Range,  the  foothills,  and  the  other 
cities  of  the  San  Fernando  Valley  supplied  a  modest  setting. 
This  was  usual  enough. 

At  the  door  stood  a  very  alert  man  with  glasses.  He 
scrutinized  closely  every  passerby.  Occasionally  he  hailed 
one  or  the  other,  conversed  earnestly  a  brief  instant,  and 
passed  them  inside.  Gradually  it  dawned  on  Bob  that 
this  man  was  acting  in  the  capacity  of  "barker"  —  that 
with  quite  admirable  perspicacity  and  accuracy,  he  was 
engaged  in  selecting  from  the  countless  throngs  the  few 
possible  purchasers  for  Lucky  Lands.  Curious  to  see 
what  attraction  was  offered  to  induce  this  unanimity  of 
acquiescence  to  the  barker's  invitation,  the  young  man 
approached. 

"What's  going  on?"  he  asked. 

The  barker  appraised  him  with  one  sweeping  glance. 

152 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME         153 

"  Stereopticon  lecture  inside,"  he  snapped,  and  turned  his 
back. 

Bob  made  his  way  into  a  dimly  lighted  hall.  At  one  end 
was  a  slightly  elevated  platform  above  which  the  white  screen 
was  suspended.  More  agricultural  products  supplied  the 
decorations.  The  body  of  the  hall  was  filled  with  folding 
chairs,  about  half  of  which  were  occupied.  Perhaps  a  dozen 
attendants  tiptoed  here  and  there.  A  successful  attempt 
was  everywhere  made  to  endow  with  high  importance  all 
the  proceedings  and  appurtenances  of  the  Lucky  Land  Co. 

Bob  slipped  into  a  chair.  Immediately  a  small  paste- 
board ticket  and  a  fountain  pen  were  thrust  into  his  hand. 

"  Sign  your  name  and  address  on  this,"  the  man  whispered. 

Bob  held  it  up,  the  better  to  see  what  it  was. 

"All  these  tickets  are  placed  in  a  hat,"  explained  the  man, 
"  and  one  is  drawn.  The  lucky  ticket  gets  a  free  ride  to 
Lucky  on  one  of  our  weekly  homcseekers'  excursions. 
Others  pay  one  fare  for  round  trip." 

"  I  see/'  said  Bob,  signing,  "  and  in  return  you  get  the 
names  and  addresses  af  every  one  here." 

He  glanced  up  at  his  interlocutor  with  a  quizzical  expres- 
sion that  changed  at  once  to  one  of  puzzlement.  Where  had 
he  seen  the  man  before?  He  was,  perhaps,  fifty-five  years 
old,  tall  and  slender,  slightly  stooped,  slightly  awry.  His  lean 
gray  face  was  deeply  lined,  his  close-clipped  moustache  and 
hair  were  gray,  and  his  eyes  twinkled  behind  his  glasses  with 
a  cold  gray  light.  Something  about  these  glasses  struck 
faintly  a  chord  of  memory  in  Bob's  experience,  but  he  could 
not  catch  its  modulations.  The  man,  on  his  side,  stared  at  Bob 
a  trifle  uncertainly.  Then  he  held  the  card  up  to  the  dim  light. 

"You  are  interested  in  Lucky  Lands  —  Mr.  John  Smith, 
of  Reno?"  he  asked,  stooping  low  to  be  heard. 

"Sure!  "grinned  Bob. 

The  man  said  nothing  more,  but  glided  away,  and  in  a 
moment  the  flare  of  light  on  the  screen  announced  that  the 
lecture  was  to  begin. 


154         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

The  lecturer  was  a  glib,  self-possessed  youth,  filled  to  tlie 
brim  with  statistics,  with  which  he  literally  overwhelmed  his 
auditors.  His  remarks  were  accompanied  by  a  rapid-fire 
snapping  of  fingers  to  the  time  of  which  the  operator  changed 
his  slides.  A  bewildering  succession  of  coloured  views 
flashed  on  the  screen.  They  showed  Lucky  in  all  its  glories 
—  the  blacksmith  shop,  the  main  street,  the  new  hotel,  the 
grocery,  Brown's  walnut  ranch,  the  ditch,  the  Southern 
Pacific  Depot,  the  Methodist  Church  and  a  hundred  others. 
So  quickly  did  they  succeed  each  other  that  no  one  had  time 
to  reduce  to  the  terms  of  experience  the  scenes  depicted  on 
these  slides  —  for  with  the  glamour  of  exaggerated  colour, 
of  unaccustomed  presentation,  and  of  skillful  posing  the 
most  commonplace  village  street  seems  wonderful  and  attract- 
ive for  the  moment.  The  lecturer  concluded  by  an  alarm- 
ing statement  as  to  the  rapidity  with  which  this  desirable 
ranching  property  was  being  snapped  up.  He  urged  early 
decisions  as  the  only  safe  course;  and,  as  usual  with  all  real 
estate  men,  called  attention  to  the  contrast  between  the 
Riverside  of  twenty  years  ago  and  the  Riverside  of  to-day. 

The  daylight  was  then  admitted. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  concluded  the  lecturer,  still  in  his 
brisk,  time-saving  style,  "the  weekly  excursion  to  Lucky 
will  take  place  to-morrow.  One  fare  both  ways  to  home- 
seekers.  Free  carriages  to  the  Lands.  Grand  free  open-air 
lunch  under  the  spreading  sycamores  and  by  the  babbling 
brook.  Train  leaves  at  seven-thirty." 

In  full  sight  of  all  he  threw  the  packet  of  tickets  into  a 
hat  and  drew  one. 

"Mr.  John  Smith,  of  Reno,"  he  read.  "Who  is  Mr. 
Smith?" 

"Here,"  said  Bob. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  to  Lucky  to-morrow?" 

"Sure,"  said  Bob. 

One  of  the  attendants  immediately  handed  Bob  a  railroad 
ticket.  The  lecturer  had  already  disappeared. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          155 

To  his  surprise  Bob  found  the  street  door  locked. 

"This  way,"  urged  one  of  the  salesmen.  "You  go  out 
this  way." 

He  and  the  rest  of  the  audience  were  passed  out  another 
door  in  the  rear,  where  they  were  forced  to  go  through  the 
main  offices  of  the  Company.  Here  were  stationed  the 
gray  man  and  all  his  younger  assistants.  Bob  paused  by 
the  door.  He  could  not  but  admire  the  acumen  of  the  barker 
in  selecting  his  men.  The  audience  was  made  up  of  just 
the  type  of  those  who  come  to  California  with  agricultural 
desires  and  a  few  hundred  dollars  —  slow  plodders  from 
Eastern  farms,  Italians  with  savings  and  ambitions,  half 
invalids  —  all  the  element  that  crowds  the  tourist  sleepers 
day  in  and  day  out,  the  people  who  are  filling  the  odd  corners 
of  the  greater  valleys.  As  these  debouched  into  the  glare 
of  the  outer  offices,  they  hesitated,  making  up  their  slow 
minds  which  way  to  turn.  In  that  instant  or  so  the  gray 
man,  like  a  captain,  assigned  his  salesmen.  The  latter  were 
of  all  sorts  —  fat  and  joking,  thin  and  very  serious-minded, 
intense,  enthusiastic,  cold  and  haughty.  The  gray  man 
sized  up  his  prospective  customers  and  to  each  assigned  a 
salesman  to  suit.  Bob  had  no  means  of  guessing  how 
accurate  these  estimates  might  be,  but  they  were  evidently 
made  intelligently,  with  some  system  compounded  of  theory 
or  experience.  After  a  moment  Bob  became  conscious  that 
he  himself  was  being  sharply  scrutinized  by  the  gray  man, 
and  in  return  watched  covertly.  He  saw  the  gray  man 
shake  his  head  slightly.  Bob  passed  out  the  door  unac- 
costed  by  any  of  the  salesmen. 

At  half-past  seven  the  following  morning  he  boarded  the 
local  train.  In  one  car  he  found  a  score  of  "prospects" 
already  seated,  accompanied  by  half  their  number  of  the 
young  men  of  the  real  estate  office.  The  utmost  jocularity 
and  humour  prevailed,  except  in  one  corner  where  a  very 
earnest  young  man  drove  home  the  points  of  his  argument 
with  an  impressive  forefinger.  Bob  dropped  unobtrusively 


156  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

into  a  seat,  and  prepared  to  enjoy  his  never-failing  interest 
in  the  California  landscape  with  its  changing  wonderful 
mountains;  its  alternations  of  sage  brush  and  wide  cultivation; 
its  vineyards  as  far  as  the  eye  could  distinguish  the  vines; 
its  grainfields  seeming  to  fill  the  whole  cup  of  the  valleys; 
its  orchards  wide  as  forests;  and  its  desert  stretches,  bigger 
than  them  all,  awaiting  but  the  vivifying  touch  of  water  to 
burst  into  productiveness.  He  heard  one  of  the  salesmen 
expressing  this. 

"' Water  is  King,'"  he  was  saying,  quoting  thus  the  catch- 
word of  this  particular  concern.  He  was  talking  in  a  half- 
joking  way,  asking  one  or  the  other  how  many  inches  of  rainfall 
could  be  expected  per  annum  back  where  they  came  from. 

" Don't  know,  do  you?"  he  answered  himself.  "Nobody 
pays  any  great  and  particular  amount  of  attention  to  that  — 
you  get  water  enough,  except  in  exceptional  years.  Out  here 
it's  different.  Every  one  knows  to  the  hundredth  of  an  inch 
just  how  much  rain  has  fallen,  and  how  much  ought  to  have 
fallen.  It's  vital.  Water  is  King." 

He  gathered  close  the  attention  of  his  auditors. 

"We  have  the  water  in  California,"  he  went  on;  "but  it 
isn't  always  in  the  right  place  nor  does  it  come  at  the  right 
time.  You  can't  grow  crops  in  the  high  mountains  where 
most  of  the  precipitation  occurs.  But  you  can  bring  that 
water  down  to  the  plains.  That's  your  answer:  irrigation." 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other.     Several  nodded. 

"But  a  man  can't  irrigate  by  himself.  He  can't  build 
reservoirs,  ditches  all  alone.  That's  where  a  concern  like 
the  Lucky  Company  makes  good.  We've  brought  the  water 
to  where  you  can  use  it.  Under  the  influence  of  cultivation 
that  apparently  worthless  land  can  produce  -  "he  went 
on  at  great  length  detailing  statistics  of  production.  Even 
to  Bob,  who  had  no  vital  nor  practical  interest,  it  was  all 
most  novel  and  convincing. 

So  absorbed  did  he  become  that  he  was  somewhat  startled 
when  a  man  sat  down  beside  him.  He  looked  up  to  meet 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  157 

the  steel  gray  eyes  and  glittering  glasses  of  the  chief.  Again 
there  swept  over  him  a  sense  of  familiarity,  the  feeling  that 
somewhere,  at  some  time,  he  had  met  this  man  before. 
It  passed  almost  as  quickly  as  it  came,  but  left  him  puzzled. 

"Of  course  your  name  is  not  Smith,  nor  do  you  come 
from  Reno,"  said  the  man  in  gray  abruptly.  "I've  seen 
you  somewhere  before,  but  I  can't  place  you.  Are  you  a 
newspaper  man?" 

"  I've  been  thinking  the  same  of  you,"  returned  Bob.  "  No, 
I'm  just  plain  tourist." 

"I  don't  imagine  you're  particularly  interested  in  Lucky," 
said  the  gray  man.  "Why  did  you  come?" 

"  Just  idleness  and  curiosity,"  replied  Bob  frankly. 

"Of  course  we  try  to  get  the  most  value  in  return  for  our 
expenditures  on  these  excursions  by  taking  men  who  are 
at  least  interested  in  the  country,"  suggested  the  gray  man. 

"By  Jove,  I  never  thought  of  that!"  cried  Bob.  "Of 
course,  I'd  no  business  to  take  that  free  ticket.  I'll  pay  you 
my  fare." 

The  gray  man  had  been  scrutinizing  him  intensely  and 
keenly.  At  Bob's  comically  contrite  expression,  his  own  face 
cleared. 

"No,  you  misunderstand  me,"  he  replied  in  his  crisp  fash- 
ion. "We  give  these  excursions  as  an  advertisement  of  what 
we  have.  The  more  people  to  know  about  Lucky,  the  better 
our  chances.  We  made  an  offer  of  which  you  have  taken 
advantage.  You're  perfectly  welcome,  and  I  hope  you'll 
enjoy  yourself.  Here,  Selwyn,"  he  called  to  one  of  the 
salesman,  "this  is  Mr.  — what  did  you  say  your  name  is?" 

"Orde,"  replied  Bob. 

The  gray  man  seemed  for  an  almost  imperceptible  instant 
to  stiffen  in  his  seat.  The  gray  eyes  glazed  over;  the  gray- 
lined  face  froze. 

"Orde,"  he  repeated  harshly;  "where  from?" 

"Michigan,"  Bob  replied. 

The  gray  man  rose  stiffly.     "Well,  Selwyn,"  said  he,  "this 


158          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

is  Mr.  Orde  —  of  Michigan  —  and  I  want  you  to  show  him 
around." 

He  moved  down  the  aisle  to  take  a  seat,  distant,  but  facing 
the  two  young  men.  Bob  felt  himself  the  object  of  a  furtive 
but  minute  scrutiny  which  lasted  until  the  train  slowed  down 
at  the  outskirts  of  Lucky. 

Selwyn  proved  to  be  an  agreeable  young  man,  keen-faced, 
clean-cut,  full  of  energy  and  enthusiasm.  He  soon  discovered 
that  Bob  did  not  contemplate  going  into  ranching,  and  at  once 
admitted  that  young  man  to  his  confidence. 

"You  just  nail  a  seat  iri  that  surrey  over  there,  while  I 
chase  out  my  two  'prospects.'  We  sell  on  commission  and 
I've  got  to  rustle." 

They  drove  out  of  the  sleepy  little  village  on  which  had 
been  grafted  showy  samples  of  the  Company's  progress. 
The  day  was  beautiful  with  sunshine,  with  the  mellow  calls 
of  meadow  larks,  with  warmth  and  sweet  odours.  As  the 
surrey  took  its  zigzag  way  through  the  brush,  as  the  quail 
paced  away  to  right  and  left,  as  the  delicate  aroma  of  the 
sage  rose  to  his  nostrils,  Bob  began  to  be  very  glad  he  had 
come.  Here  and  there  the  brush  had  been  cleared,  small 
shacks  built,  fences  of  wire  strung,  and  the  land  ploughed 
over.  At  such  places  the  surrey  paused  while  Selwyn  held 
forth  to  his  two  stolid  " prospects"  on  how  long  these  new- 
comers had  been  there  and  how  well  they  were  getting  on. 
The  country  rose  in  a  gradual  slope  to  the  slate-blue  moun- 
tains. Ditches  ran  here  and  there.  Everywhere  were  small 
square  stakes  painted  white,  indicating  the  boundaries  of 
tracts  yet  unsold. 

They  visited  the  reservoir,  which  looked  to  Bob  uncom- 
monly like  a  muddy  duck  pond,  but  whose  value  Selwyn 
soon  made  very  clear.  They  wandered  through  the  Chiquito 
ranch,  whence  came  the  exhibition  fruit  and  other  products, 
and  which  formed  the  basis  of  most  Lucky  arguments.  The 
owner  had  taken  many  medals  for  his  fruit,  and  had  spent 
twenty-five  years  in  making  the  Chiquito  a  model. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  159 

"Any  man  can  do  likewise  in  this  land  of  promise,"  said 
Selwyn. 

They  ended  finally  in  a  beautiful  little  canon  among  the 
foothills.  It  was  grown  thick  with  twisted,  mottled  syca- 
mores just  budding  into  leaf,  with  vines  and  greenery  of  the 
luxurious  California  varieties.  Birds  sang  everywhere  and 
a  brook  babbled  and  bubbled  down  a  stony  bed. 

Under  the  largest  of  the  sycamores  a  tent  had  been  pitched 
and  a  table  spread.  Affairs  seemed  to  be  in  charge  of  a  very 
competent  countrywoman  whose  fuzzy  horse  and  ram- 
shackle buggy  stood  securely  tethered  below.  The  surries 
drove  up  and  deposited  their  burdens.  Bob  took  his  place 
at  table  to  be  served  with  an  abundant,  hot  and  well-cooked 
meal. 

The  ice  had  been  broken.  Everybody  laughed  and  joked. 
Some  of  the  men  removed  their  coats  in  order  to  be  more  com- 
fortable. The  young  salesmen  had  laboured  successfully  to 
bring  these  strangers  to  a  feeling  of  partnership  in  at  least 
the  aims  of  the  Company,  of  partisanship  against  the  claims 
of  other  less-favoured  valleys  than  Lucky.  During  a  pause 
in  the  fun,  one  of  the  "  prospects,"  an  elderly,  white- whiskered 
farmer  of  the  more  prosperous  type,  nodded  toward  the 
brook. 

"That  sounds  good,"  said  he. 

"It's  the  supply  for  the  Lucky  Lands,"  replied  Selwyn. 
"It  ought  to  sound  good." 

"There's  mighty  few  flowing  creeks  in  California  this  far 
out  from  the  mountains,"  interposed  another  salesman. 
"You  know  out  here,  except  in  the  rainy  season,  the  rivers 
all  flow  bottom-up." 

They  all  guffawed  at  this  ancient  and  mild  joke.  The  old 
farmer  wagged  his  head. 

"Water  is  King,"  said  he  solemnly,  as  though  voicing  an 
original  and  profound  thought. 

A  look  of  satisfaction  overspread  the  countenance  of  the 
particular  salesman  who  had  the  old  farmer  in  charge.  When 


160          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

you  can  get  your  " prospect"  to  adopt  your  catchword  and 
enunciate  it  with  conviction,  he  is  yours! 

After  the  meal  Bob,  unnoticed,  wandered  off  up  the  canon. 
He  had  ascertained  that  the  excursionists  would  not  leave  the 
spot  for  two  hours  yet,  and  he  welcomed  the  chance  for 
exercise.  Accordingly  he  set  himself  to  follow  the  creek, 
the  one  stream  of  pure  and  limpid  water  that  did  not  flow 
bottom-up.  At  first  this  was  easy  enough,  but  after  a  while 
the  canon  narrowed,  and  Bob  found  himself  compelled  to 
clamber  over  rocks  and  boulders,  to  push  his  way  through 
thickets  of  brush  and  clinging  vines,  finally  even  to  scale  a 
precipitous  and  tangled  side  hill  over  which  the  stream  fell 
in  a  series  of  waterfalls.  Once  past  this  obstruction,  how- 
ever, the  country  widened  again.  Bob  stood  in  the  bed  of 
a  broad,  flat  wash  flanked  by  low  hills.  Before  him,  and 
still  some  miles  distant,  rose  the  mountains  in  which  the 
stream  found  its  source. 

Bob  stood  still  for  a  moment,  his  hat  in  his  hand,  enjoying 
the  tepid  odours,  the  warm  sun  and  the  calls  of  innumerable 
birds.  Then  he  became  aware  of  a  faint  and  intermittent 
throb  —  put-put  (pause)  put  (pause) ,  put-put-put! 

"  Gasoline  engine,"  said  he  to  himself. 

He  tramped  a  few  hundred  yards  up  the  dry  wash,  rounded 
a  bend,  and  came  to  a  small  wooden  shack  from  which 
emanated  the  sound  of  the  gas  explosions.  A  steady  stream 
of  water  gushed  from  a  pump  operated  by  the  gasoline  engine. 
Above,  the  stream  bed  was  dry.  Here  was  the  origin  of  the 
" beautiful  mountain  stream." 

Chair-tilted  in  front  of  the  shack  sat  a  man  smoking  a  pipe. 
He  looked  up  as  Bob  approached. 

"Hullo,"  said  he;  "show  over?" 

He  disappeared  inside  and  shut  off  the  gasoline  engine. 
Immediately  the  flow  ceased;  the  stream  dried  up  as  though 
scorched.  Presently  the  man  emerged,  thrusting  his  hands 
into  the  armholes  of  an  old  coat.  Shrugging  the  garment 
into  place,  he  snapped  shut  the  padlock  on  the  door. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          161 

"Come  on,"  said  he.  "My  rig's  over  behind  that  grease- 
wood.  You're  a  new  one,  ain't  ye?" 

Bob  nodded. 

"That  horse  is  branded  pretty  thick,"  he  said  by  way  of 
diversion. 

The  man  chuckled. 

"Have  to  turn  his  skin  other  side  out  to  get  another  one 
on,"  he  agreed. 

They  drove  down  an  old  dim  road  that  avoided  the  diffi- 
culties of  the  canon.  At  camp  they  found  the  surries  just 
loading  up.  Bob  took  his  place.  Before  the  rigs  started 
back,  the  gray  man,  catching  sight  of  the  pump  man,  drew 
him  aside  and  said  several  things  very  vigorously.  The 
pump  man  answered  with  some  indignation,  pointing  finally 
to  Bob.  Instantly  the  gray  man  whirled  to  inspect  the  young 
fellow.  Then  he  shot  a  last  remark,  turned  and  climbed 
grumpily  into  his  vehicle. 

At  the  station  Bob  tried  to  draw  Selwyn  aside  for  a  con- 
versation. 

"I'll  be  with  you  when  the  train  starts,  old  man,"  replied 
Selwyn,  "but  I've  got  to  stick  close  to  these  prospects. 
There's  a  gang  of  knockers  hanging  around  here  always, 
just  waiting  for  a  chance  to  lip  in." 

When  the  train  started,  however,  Selwyn  came  back  to 
drop  into  Bob's  seat  with  a  wearied  sigh. 

"  Gosh!  I  get  sick  of  handing  out  dope  to  these  yaps,"  said 
he.  "I  was  afraid  for  a  while  it  was  going  to  blow.  Looked 
like  it." 

"What  of  it?  "asked  Bob. 

"  When  it  blows  up  here,  it'd  lift  the  feathers  off  a  chicken 
and  the  chicken  off  the  earth,"  explained  Selwyn.  "I've 
seen  more  than  one  good  prospect  ruined  by  a  bad  day." 

"How'd  you  come  out?"  inquired  Bob. 

"  Got  one.  He  handed  over  his  first  payment  on  the  spot. 
Funny  how  these  yahoos  almost  always  bring  their  cash  right 
with  'em.  Other's  no  good.  I  get  so  I  can  spot  that  kind 


162          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

the  first  three  words.  They're  always  too  blame  enthus- 
iastic about  the  country  and  the  Company.  Seems  like  they 
try  to  pay  for  their  entertainment  by  jollying  us  along. 
Don't  fool  me  any.  When  a  man  begins  to  object  to  things, 
you  know  he's  thinking  of  buying." 

Bob  listened  to  this  wisdom  with  some  amusement. 
"How'd  you  explain  when  the  stream  stopped?"  he  asked. 

"Why,"  said  Selwyn,  looking  straight  ahead,  " didn't 
you  hear  Mr.  Oldham?  They  turned  the  water  into  the 
Upper  Ditch  to  irrigate  the  Foothill  Tracts." 

Bob  laughed.  "You're  not  much  of  a  liar,  Selwyn,"  he 
said  pleasantly.  "Failure  of  gasoline  would  hit  it  nearer." 

"Oh,  that's  where  you  went,"  said  Selwyn.  "I  ought  to 
have  kept  my  eye  on  you  closer." 

He  fell  silent,  and  Bob  eyed  him  speculatively.  He  liked 
the  young  fellow's  clear,  frank  cast  of  countenance. 

"Look  here,  Sdwyn,"  he  broke  out,  "do  you  like  this 
bunco  game?" 

"I  don't  like  the  methods,"  replied  Selwyn  promptly; 
"but  you  are  mistaken  when  you  think  it's  a  bunco  game. 
The  land  is  good;  there's  plenty  of  artesian  water  to  be  had; 
and  we  don't  sell  at  a  fancy  price.  We've  located  over  eight 
hundred  families  up  there  at  Lucky  Lands,  and  three  out  of 
four  are  making  good.  The  fourth  simply  hadn't  the  capital 
to  hold  out  until  returns  came  in.  It's  as  good  a  small- 
ranch  proposition  as  they  could  find.  If  I  didn't  think  so, 
I  wouldn't  be  in  it  for  a  minute." 

"How  about  that  stream?" 

"Nobody  said  the  stream  was  a  natural  one.  And  the 
water  exists,  no  matter  where  it  cornes  from.  You  can't 
impress  an  Eastern  farmer  with  a  pump  proposition:  that's 
a  matter  of  education.  They  come  to  see  its  value  after 
they've  tried  it." 

"But  your ' 

"I  told  you  I  didn't  like  the  methods.  I  won't  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  dirty  work,  and  Oldham  knows  it." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  163 

"Why  all  the  bluff,  then?"  asked  Bob. 

"  There  are  thousands  of  real  estate  firms  in  Los  Angeles 
trying  to  sell  millions  of  acres,"  said  Selwyn,  "and  this  is 
about  the  only  concern  that  succeeds  in  colonizing  on  a  large 
scale.  Oldham  developed  this  system,  and  it  seems  to  work." 

"  The  law'll  get  him  some  day." 

"I  think  not,"  replied  Selwyn.  "You  may  find  him  close 
to  the  edge  of  the  law,  but  he  never  steps  over.  He's  a 
mighty  bright  business  man,  and  he's  made  a  heap  of  money." 

When  nearing  the  Arcade  depot,  Oldham  himself  stepped 
forward. 

"Stopping  in  California  long?"  he  asked,  with  some 
approach  to  geniality. 

"Permanently,  I  think,"  replied  Bob. 

"You  are  going  to  manufacture  your  timber?" 

Bob  looked  up  astonished. 

"You're  the  Orde  interested  in  Granite  County  timber, 
aren't  you?" 

"I'm  employed  by  Welton,  that's  all,"  said  Bob.  "He 
owns  the  timber.  But  how  did  you  know  I  am  with 
Welton?"  he  asked. 

"With  Welton!"  echoed  Oldham.  "Oh,  yes  —  well,  I 
heard  from  Michigan  business  acquaintances  you  were 
with  him.  Welton's  lands  are  in  Granite  County?" 

"Yes,"  said  Bob. 

"Well,"  said  Oldham  vaguely,  "I  hope  you  have  enjoyed 
your  little  outing."  He  turned  away. 

"Now,  how  the  deuce  should  anybody  know  about  me, 
or  that  I  am  with  Welton,  or  take  the  trouble  to  write  about 
it?" 

He  mulled  over  this  for  some  time.  For  lack  of  a  better 
reason,  he  ascribed  to  his  former  football  prominence  the 
fact  that  Oldham' s  Michigan  correspondent  had  thought 
him  worth  mention.  Yet  that  seemed  absurdly  inadequate. 


PART  THREE 


I 

TWO  weeks  later  a  light  buckboard  bearing  Welton 
and  Bob  dashed  in  the  early  morning  across  the 
plains,  wormed  its  way  ingeniously  through  gaps 
in  the  foothills,  and  slowed  to  a  walk  as  it  felt  the  grades  of 
the  first  long  low  slopes.  The  air  was  warm  with  the  sun 
imprisoned  in  the  pockets  of  the  hills.  High  chaparral, 
scrub  oaks,  and  scattered,  unkempt  digger  pines  threw  their 
thicket  up  to  the  very  right  of  way.  It  was  in  general  dense, 
almost  impenetrable,  yet  it  had  a  way  of  breaking  unexpect- 
edly into  spacious  parks,  into  broad  natural  pastures,  into 
bold,  rocky  points  prophetic  of  the  mountains  yet  to  come. 
Every  once  in  a  while  the  road  drew  one  side  to  pause  at  a 
cabin  nestling  among  fruit  trees,  bowered  beneath  vines, 
bright  with  the  most  vivid  of  the  commoner  flowers.  They 
were  crazily  picturesque  with  their  rough  stone  chimneys, 
their  roofs  of  shakes,  their  broad  low  verandahs,  and  their 
split-picket  fences.  On  these  verandahs  sat  patriarchal- 
looking  men  with  sweeping  white  beards,  who  smoked  pipes 
and  gazed  across  with  dim  eyes  toward  the  distant  blue 
mountains.  When  Welton,  casually  and  by  the  way,  men- 
tioned topographical  names,  Bob  realized  to  what  placid 
and  contented  retirement  these  men  had  turned,  and  who 
they  were.  Nugget  Creek,  Flour  Gold,  Bear  Gulch 
—  these  spoke  of  the  strong,  red-shirt ed  Argonauts  of  the 
El  Dorado.  Among  these  scarred  but  peaceful  foothills 
had  been  played  and  applauded  the  great,  wonderful,  sor- 
did, inspired  drama  of  the  early  days,  the  traces  of  which 
had  almost  vanished  from  the  land. 

Occasionally  also  the  buckboard  paused  for  water  at  a 

167 


1 68          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

more  pretentious  place  set  in  a  natural  opening.  There  a 
low,  rambling,  white  ranch-house  beneath  trees  was  segre- 
gated by  a  picket  fence  enclosing  blossoms  like  a  basket.  At 
a  greater  or  lesser  distance  were  corrals  of  all  sizes  arranged 
in  a  complicated  pattern.  They  resembled  a  huge  puzzle. 
The  barns  were  large;  a  forge  stood  under  an  open  shed 
indescribably  littered  with  scrap  iron  and  fragments  of  all 
sorts;  saddles  hung  suspended  by  the  horn  or  one  stirrup; 
bright  milk  pails  sunned  bottom-up  on  fence  posts;  a  dozen 
horses  cropped  in  a  small  enclosed  pasture  or  dozed  beneath 
one  or  another  of  the  magnificent  and  spreading  live-oak 
trees.  Children  of  all  sizes  and  states  of  repair  clambered 
to  the  fence  tops  or  gazed  solemnly  between  the  rails.  Some- 
times women  stood  in  the  doorways  to  nod  cheerfully  at  the 
travellers.  They  seemed  to  Bob  a  comely,  healthy-looking 
lot,  competent  and  good-natured.  Beyond  an  occasional 
small  field  and  an  invariable  kitchen  garden  there  appeared 
to  be  no  evidences  of  cultivation.  Around  the  edges  of  the 
natural  opening  stretched  immediately  the  open  jungle  of 
the  chaparral  or  the  park-like  forests  of  oaks. 

"  These  are  the  typical  mountain  people  of  California," 
said  Welton.  "  It's  only  taken  us  a  few  hours  to  come  up 
this  far,  but  we've  struck  among  a  different  breed  of  cats. 
They're  born,  live  and  die  in  the  hills,  and  they  might  as 
well  be  a  thousand  miles  away  as  forty  or  fifty.  As  soon 
as  the  snow  is  out,  they  hike  for  the  big  mountains." 

"What  do  they  do?"  inquired  Bob. 

"  Cattle,"  replied  Welton.     "  Nothing  else." 

"I  haven't  seen  any  men." 

"No,  and  you  won't,  except  the  old  ones.  They've 
taken  their  cattle  back  to  the  summer  ranges  in  the  high 
mountains.  By  and  by  the  women  and  kids  will  go  into 
the  summer  camps  with  the  horses." 

On  a  steep  and  narrow  grade  they  encountered  a  girl  of 
twenty  riding  a  spirited  pinto.  She  bestrode  a  cowboy's 
stock  saddle  on  which  was  coiled  the  usual  rope,  wore  a 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  169 

broad  felt  hat,  and  smiled  at  the  two  men  quite  frankly  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  she  wore  no  habit  and  had  been  com- 
pelled to  arrange  her  light  calico  skirts  as  best  she  could. 
The  pinto  threw  his  head  and  snorted,  dancing  sideways  at 
sight  of  the  buckboard.  So  occupied  was  he  with  the 
strange  vehicle  that  he  paid  scant  attention  to  the  edge  of 
the  road.  Bob  saw  that  the  passage  along  the  narrow  out- 
side strip  was  going  to  be  precarious.  He  prepared  to 
descend,  but  at  that  moment  the  girl  faced  her  pony  squarely 
at  the  edge  of  the  road,  dug  her  little  heels  into  his  flanks, 
and  flicked  him  sharply  with  the  morale  or  elongated  lash 
of  the  reins.  Without  hesitation  the  pony  stepped  off  the 
grade,  bunched  his  hoofs  and  slid  down  the  precipitous  slope. 
So  steep  was  the  hill  that  a  man  would  have  had  to  climb  it 
on  all  fours. 

Bob  gasped  and  rose  to  his  feet.  The  pony,  leaving  a 
long  furrow  in  the  side  of  the  mountain,  caught  himself  on 
the  narrow  ledge  of  a  cattle  trail,  turned  to  the  left,  and 
disappeared  at  a  little  fox  trot. 

Bob  looked  at  this  companion.     Welton  laughed. 

"There's  hardly  a  woman  in  the  country  that  doesn't  help 
round  up  stock.  How'd  you  like  to  chase  a  cow  full  speed 
over  this  country,  hey?" 

As  they  progressed,  mounting  slowly,  but  steadily,  the 
character  of  the  country  changed.  The  canons  through 
which  flowed  the  streams  became  deeper  and  more  pre- 
cipitous; the  divides  between  them  higher.  At  one  point 
where  the  road  emerged  on  a  bold,  clear  point,  Bob  looked 
back  to  the  shimmering  plain,  and  was  astonished  to  see  how 
high  they  had  climbed.  To  the  eastward  and  only  a  few 
miles  distant  rose  the  dark  mass  of  a  pine-covered  ridge, 
austere  and  solemn,  the  first  rampart  of  the  Sierras.  Welton 
pointed  to  it  with  his  whip. 

"There's  our  timber,"  said  he  simply. 

A  little  farther  along  the  buckboard  drew  rein  at  the  top 
of  a  long  declivity  that  led  down  to  a  broad  wooded  valley. 


170          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Among  the  trees  Bob  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  roofs  of  scat- 
tered houses,  and  the  gleam  of  a  river.  From  the  opposite 
edge  of  the  valley  rose  the  mountain-ridge,  sheer  and  noble. 
The  light  of  afternoon  tinted  it  with  lilac  and  purple. 

" That's  the  celebrated  town  of  Sycamore  Flats,"  said 
Welton.  "  Just  at  present  we're  the  most  important  citizens. 
This  fellow  here's  the  first  yellow  pine  on  the  road." 

Bob  looked  upon  what  he  then  considered  a  rather  large 
tree.  Later  he  changed  his  mind.  The  buckboard  rattled 
down  the  grade,  swung  over  a  bridge,  and  so  into  the  little 
town.  Welton  drew  up  at  a  low,  broad  structure  set  back 
from  the  street  among  some  trees. 

"We'll  tackle  the  mountain  to-morrow,"  said  he. 

Bob  descended  with  a  distinct  feeling  of  pleasure  at  being 
able  to  use  his  legs  again.  He  and  Welton  and  the  baggage 
and  everything  about  the  buckboard  were  powdered  thick 
with  the  fine,  white  California  dust.  At  every  movement 
he  shook  loose  a  choking  cloud.  Welton' s  face  was  a  dull 
gray,  ludicrously  streaked,  and  he  suspected  himself  of  being 
in  the  same  predicament.  A  boy  took  the  horses,  and  the 
travellers  entered  the  picketed  enclosure.  Welton  lifted  up 
his  great  rumbling  voice. 

"O  Auntie  Belle!"  he  roared. 

Within  the  dark  depths  of  the  house  life  stirred.  In  a 
moment  a  capable  and  motherly  woman  had  taken  them  in 
charge.  Amid  a  rapid-fire  of  greetings,  solicitudes,  jokes, 
questions,  commands  and  admonitions  Bob  was  dusted 
vigorously  and  led  to  ice-cold  water  and  clean  towels.  Ten 
minutes  later,  much  refreshed,  he  stood  on  the  low  verandah 
looking  out  with  pleasure  on  the  little  there  was  to  see. 
Eight  dogs  squatted  themselves  in  front  of  him,  ears  slightly 
uplifted,  in  expectancy  of  something  Bob  could  not  guess. 
Probably  the  dogs  could  not  guess  either.  Within  the 
house  two  or  three  young  girls  were  moving  about,  singing 
and  clattering  dishes  in  a  delightfully  promising  manner. 
Down  the  winding  hill,  for  Sycamore  Flats  proved  after 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  171 

all  to  be  built  irregularly  on  a  slope,  he  could  make  out 
several  other  scattered  houses,  each  with  its  dooryard,  and 
the  larger  structures  of  several  stores.  Over  all  loomed  the 
dark  mountain.  The  sun  had  just  dropped  below  the  ridge 
down  which  the  road  had  led  them,  but  still  shone  clear  and 
golden  as  an  overlay  of  colour  laid  against  the  sombre  pines 
on  the  higher  slopes. 

After  an  excellent  chicken  supper,  Bob  lit  his  pipe  and 
wandered  down  the  street.  The  larger  structures,  three  in 
number,  now  turned  out  to  be  a  store  and  two  saloons.  A 
dozen  saddle  horses  dozed  patiently.  On  the  platform 
outside  the  store  a  dozen  Indian  women  dressed  in  bright 
calico  huddled  beneath  their  shawls.  After  squatting  thus 
in  brute  immobility  for  a  half- hour,  one  of  them  would  pur- 
chase a  few  pounds  of  flour  or  a  half-pound  of  tea.  Then 
she  would  take  her  place  again  with  the  others.  At  the  end 
of  another  half-hour  another,  moved  by  some  sudden  and 
mysterious  impulse,  would  in  turn  make  her  purchases.  The 
interior  of  the  store  proved  to  be  no  different  from  the  general 
country  store  anywhere.  The  proprietor  was  very  busy 
and  occupied  and  important  and  interested  in  selling  a  two- 
dollar  bill  of  goods  to  a  chance  prospector,  which  was  well, 
for  this  was  the  storekeeper's  whole  life,  and  he  had  in 
defence  of  his  soul  to  make  his  occupations  filling.  Bob 
bought  a  cigar  and  went  out. 

Next  he  looked  in  at  one  of  the  saloons.  It  was  an  ill- 
smelling,  cheap  box,  whose  sole  ornaments  were  advertising 
lithographs.  Four  men  played  cards.  They  hardly  glanced 
at  the  newcomer.  Bob  deciphered  Forest  Reserve  badges 
on  three  of  them. 

As  he  emerged  from  this  joint,  his  eyes  a  trifle  dazzled  by 
the  light,  he  made  out  drawn  up  next  the  elevated  platform 
a  buckboard  containing  a  single  man.  As  his  pupils  con- 
tracted he  distinguished  such  details  as  a  wiry,  smart  little 
team,  a  man  so  fat  as  almost  to  fill  the  seat,  a  moon-like, 
good-natured  face,  a  vest  open  to  disclose  a  vast  white  shirt. 


172          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Hullo!"  the  stranger  rumbled  in  a  great  voice.  "Any 
f>f  my  boys  in  there?" 

"Don't  believe  I  know  your  boys,"  replied  Bob  pleasantly. 

The  fat  man  heaved  his  bulk  forward  to  peer  at  Bob. 

"Consarn  your  hide!"  he  roared  with  the  utmost  good 
humour;  "stand  out  of  the  light  so  I  can  see  your  fool  face. 
You  lie  like  a  hound!  Everybody  knows  my  boys!" 

There  was  no  offence  in  the  words. 

Bob  laughed  and  obligingly  stepped  one  side  the  lighted 
doorway. 

"A  towerist!"  wheezed  the  fat  man.  "Say,  you're  too 
early.  Nothing  doing  in  the  mountains  yet.  Who  sent  you 
this  early,  anyway?" 

"No  tourist;  permanent  inhabitant,"  said  Bob.  "I'm 
with  Welton." 

"Timber,  by  God!"  exploded  the  fat  man.  "Well,  you 
and  I  are  like  to  have  friendly  doings.  Your  road  goes 
through  us,  and  you  got  to  toe  the  mark,  young  fellow,  let 
me  tell  you!  I'm  a  hell  of  a  hard  man  to  get  on  with!" 

"You  look  it,"  said  Bob.     "You  own  some  timber?" 

The  fat  man  exploded  again. 

"Hell,  no!"  he  roared.  "Why,  you  don't  even  know  me, 
do  you?  I'm  Plant,  Henry  Plant.  I'm  Forest  Supervisor." 

"My  name's  Orde,"  said  Bob.  "If  you're  after  Fore&t 
Rangers,  there's  three  in  there." 

"The  rascals!"  cried  Plant.  He  raised  his  voice  to  a 
bellow.  "Oh,  you  Jim!" 

The  door  was  darkened. 

"Say,  Jim,"  said  Plant.  "They  tell  me  there's  a  fire  over 
Stone  Creek  way.  Somebody's  got  to  take  a  look  at  it. 
You  and  Joe  better  ride  over  in  the  morning  and  see  what 
she  looks  like." 

The  man  stretched  his  arms  over  his  head  and  yawned. 
"Oh,  hell!"  said  he  with  deep  feeling.  "Ain't  you  got  any 
of  those  suckers  that  like  to  ride  ?  I've  had  a  headache  for 
three  days." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  173 

"Yes,  it's  hard  luck  you  got  to  do  anything,  ain't  it,"  said 
Plant.  "Well,  I'll  see  if  I  can  find  old  John,  and  if  you 
don't  hear  from  me,  you  got  to  go." 

The  Supervisor  gathered  up  his  reins  and  was  about  to 
proceed  when  down  through  the  fading  twilight  rode  a 
singular  figure.  It  was  a  thin,  wiry,  tall  man,  with  a  face 
like  tanned  leather,  a  clear,  blue  eye  and  a  drooping  white 
moustache.  He  wore  a  flopping  old  felt  hat,  a  faded  cot- 
ton shirt  and  an  ancient  pair  of  copper-riveted  blue-jeans 
overalls  tucked  into  a  pair  of  cowboy's  boots.  A  time- 
discoloured  cartridge  belt  encircled  his  hips,  supporting  a 
holster  from  which  protruded  the  shiny  butt  of  an  old- 
fashioned  Colt's  45.  But  if  the  man  was  thus  nondescript 
and  shabby,  his  mount  and  its  caparisons  were  magnificent. 
The  horse  was  a  glossy,  clean-limbed  sorrel  with  a  quick, 
intelligent  eye.  The  bridle  was  of  braided  rawhide,  the 
broad  spade-bit  heavily  inlaid  with  silver,  the  reins  of  braided 
and  knotted  rawhide.  Across  the  animal's  brow  ran  three 
plates  of  silver  linked  together.  Below  its  ears  were  wide 
silver  conchas.  The  saddle  was  carved  elaborately,  and 
likewise  ornamented  with  silver.  The  whole  outfit  shone  — 
new-polished  and  well  kept. 

"Oh,  you  John!"  called  Plant. 

The  old  man  moved  his  left  hand  slightly.  The  proud- 
stepping  sorrel  instantly  turned  to  the  left,  and,  on  a  signal 
Bob  could  not  distinguish,  stopped  to  statue-like  immobility. 
Then  Bob  could  see  the  Forest  Ranger  badge  pinned  to  one 
strap  of  the  old  man's  suspender. 

"John,"  said  Plant,  "they  tell  me  there's  a  fire  over  at 
Stone  Creek.  Ride  over  and  see  what  it  amounts  to." 

"All  right,"  replied  the  Ranger.     "What  help  do  I  get?" 

"Oh,  you  just  ride  over  and  see  what  it  amounts  to," 
repeated  Plant. 

"  I  can't  do  nothing  alone  fighting  fire." 

"Well  I  can't  spare  anybody  now,"  said  Plant,  "and  it 
may  not  amount,  to  nothing.  You  go  see." 


1/4          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"All  right,"  said  John.  "But  if  it  does  amount  to  some- 
thing, it'll  get  an  awful  start  on  us." 

He  rode  away. 

"Old  California  John,"  said  Plant  to  Bob  with  a  slight 
laugh.  "Crazy  old  fool."  He  raised  his  voice.  "Oh, 
you  Jim!  John,  he's  going  to  ride  over.  You  needn't  go." 

Bob  nodded  a  good  night,  and  walked  back  up  the  street. 
At  the  store  he  found  the  sorrel  horse  standing  untethered 
in  the  road.  He  stopped  to  examine  more  closely  the  very 
ornate  outfit.  California  John  came  out  carrying  a  grain 
sack  half  full  of  provisions.  This  he  proceeded  to  tie  on 
behind  the  saddle,  paying  no  attention  to  the  young  man. 

"Well,  Star,  you  got  a  long  ways  to  go,"  muttered  the  old 
man. 

"You  aren't  going  over  those  mountains  to-night,  are 
you?"  cried  Bob. 

The  old  man  turned  quite  deliberately  and  inspected  his 
questioner  in  a  manner  to  imply  that  he  had  committed  an 
indiscretion.  But  the  answer  was  in  a  tone  that  implied 
he  had  not. 

"Certain  sure,"  he  replied.  "The  only  way  to  handle  a 
fire  is  to  stick  to  it  like  death  to  a  dead  nigger." 

Bob  returned  to  the  hotel  very  thoughtful.  There  he 
found  Mr.  Welton  seated  comfortably  on  the  verandah,  his 
feet  up  and  a  cigar  alight. 

"This  is  pretty  good  medicine,"  he  called  to  Bob.  "Get 
your  feet  up,  you  long-legged  stork,  and  enjoy  yourself. 
Been  exploring?" 

"Listening  to  the  band  on  the  plaza,"  laughed  Bob.  He 
drew  up  a  chair.  At  that  moment  the  dim  figure  of  Cali- 
fornia John  jingled  by.  "I  wouldn't  like  that  old  fellow's 
job.  He's  a  ranger,  and  he's  got  to  go  and  look  up  a  forest 
fire." 

"Alone?"  asked  Welton.  "Couldn't  they  scare  up  any 
more?  Or  are  they  over  there  already?" 

"There's  three  playing  poker  at  the  saloon.    Looked  to 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  175 

me  like  a  fool  way  to  do.  He's  just  going  to  take  a  look 
and  then  come  back  and  report." 

"Oh,  they're  heavy  on  reports!"  said  Welton.  "Where 
is  the  fire;  did  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Stone  Creek  —  wherever  that  is." 

"Stone  Creek!"  yelled  Welton,  dropping  the  front  legs  of 
his  chair  to  the  verandah  with  a  thump.  "Why,  our  timber 
adjoins  Stone  Creek!  You  com*1  with  me!" 


II 

W  ELTON  strode  away  into  the  darkness,  followed 
closely  by  Bob.     He  made  his  way  as  rapidly  as  he 
could  through  the  village  to  an  attractive  house  at 
the  farther  outskirts.     Here  he  turned  through  the  picket 
gate,  and  thundered  on  the  door. 

It  was  almost  immediately  opened  by  a  meek-looking 
woman  of  thirty. 

"Plant  in?"  demanded  Welton. 

The  meek  woman  had  no  opportunity  to  reply. 

"Sure!  Sure!  Come  in!"  roared  the  Supervisor's  great 
voice. 

They  entered  to  find  the  fat  man,  his  coat  off,  leaning 
luxuriously  back  in  an  office  chair,  his  feet  up  on  another, 
a  cigar  in  his  mouth.  He  waved  a  hospitable  hand. 

"Sit  down!  Sit  down!"  he  wheezed.  "Glad  to  see 
you." 

"They  tell  me  there's  a  fire  over  in  the  Stone  Creek 
country,"  said  Welton. 

"So  it's  reported,"  said  Plant  comfortably.  "I've  sent 
a  man  over  already  to  investigate." 

"That  timber  adjoins  ours,"  went  on  Welton.  "Sending 
one  ranger  to  investigate  don't  seem  to  help  the  old  man  a 
great  deal." 

"'Oh,  it  may  not  amount  to  much,"  disclaimed  Plant 
vaguely. 

"But  if  it  does  amount  to  much,  it'll  be  getting  one  devil 
of  a  start,"  persisted  Welton.  "Why  don't  you  send  over 
enough  men  to  give  it  a  fight?" 

"Haven't  got  'em,"  replied  Plant  briefly. 

176 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  177 

"There's  three  playing  poker  now,  down  in  the  first 
saloon,"  broke  in  Bob. 

Plant  looked  at  him  coldly  for  ten  seconds. 

"Those  men  are  waiting  to  tally  Wright's  cattle,"  he 
condescended,  naming  one  of  the  most  powerful  of  the 
valley  ranch  kings. 

But  Welton  caught  at  Bob's  statement. 

aAll  you  need  is  one  man  to  count  cattle,"  he  pointed 
out.  "Can't  you  do  that  yourself,  and  send  over  your 
men?" 

"Are  you  trying  to  tell  me  my  business,  Mr.  Welton?" 
asked  the  Supervisor  formally. 

Welton  laughed  one  of  his  inexpressible  chuckles. 

"Lord  love  you,  no!"  he  cried.  "I  have  all  I  can  handle. 
I'm  merely  trying  to  protect  my  own.  Can't  you  hire  some 
men,  then?" 

"My  appropriation  won't  stand  it,"  said  Plant,  a  gleam 
coming  into  his  eye.  "I  simply  haven't  the  money  to  pay 
them  with."  He  paused  significantly. 

" How  much  would  it  take?"  inquired  Welton. 

Plant  cast  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling. 

"Of  course,  I  couldn't  tell,  because  I  don't  know  how 
much  of  a  fire  it  is,  or  how  long  it  would  take  to  corral  it. 
But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do:  suppose  you  leave  me  a  lump 
sum,  and  I'll  look  after  such  matters  hereafter  without 
having  to  bother  you  with  them.  Of  course,  when  I  have 
rangers  available  I'll  use  'em;  but  any  time  you  need 
protection,  I  can  rush  in  enough  men  to  handle  the  situation 
without  having  to  wait  for  authorizations  and  all  that.  It 
might  not  take  anything  extra,  of  course." 

"How  much  do  you  suppose  it  would  require  to  be  surf 
we  don't  run  short?"  asked  Welton. 

"Oh,  a  thousand  dollars  ought  to  last  indefinitely,"  replied 
Plant. 

The  two  men  stared  at  each  other  for  a  moment.  Then 
Welton  laughed. 


178  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"I  can  hire  a  heap  of  men  for  a  thousand  dollars,"  said  he, 
rising.  "  Good  night." 

Plant  rumbled  something.  The  two  went  out,  leaving 
ihe  fat  man  chewing  his  cigar  and  scowling  angrily  after 
them. 

Once  clear  of  the  premises  Welton  laughed  loudly. 

"Well,  my  son,  that's  your  first  shy  at  the  government 
official,  isn't  it?  They're  not  all  as  bad  as  that.  At  first 
I  couldn't  make  out  whether  he  was  just  fat  and  lazy.  Now 
I  know  he's  a  grafter.  He  ought  to  get  a  nice  neat  'For 
Sale'  sign  painted.  Did  you  hear  the  nerve  of  him  ?  Wanted 
a  thousand  dollars  bribe  to  do  his  plain  duty." 

"Oh,  that  was  what  he  was  driving  at!"  cried  Bob. 

"Yes,  Baby  Blue-eyes,  didn't  you  tumble  to  that?  Well, 
I  don't  see  a  thousand  in  it  whether  he's  for  us  or  against  us." 

"Was  that  the  reason  he  didn't  send  over  all  his  men  to 
the  fire?"  asked  Bob. 

"Partly.  Principally  because  he  wanted  to  help  old 
Simeon  Wright's  men  in  with  the  cattle.  Simeon  probably 
has  a  ninety-nine  year  lease  on  his  fat  carcass  —  with  the 
soul  thrown  in  for  a  trading  stamp.  It  don't  take  but  one 
man  to  count  cattle,  but  three  extra  cowboys  comes  mighty 
handy  in  the  timber." 

"Would  Wright  bribe  him,  do  you  suppose?" 

Welton  stopped  short. 

"Let  me  tell  you  one  thing  about  old  Simeon,  Bob,"  said 
he.  "He  owns  more  land  than  any  other  man  in  California. 
He  got  it  all  from  the  government.  Eight  sections  on  one  of 
his  ranches  he  took  up  under  the  Swamp  Act  by  swearing 
he  had  been  all  over  them  in  a  boat.  He  had.  The  boat 
was  drawn  by  eight  mules.  That's  just  a  sample.  You  bet 
Simeon  owns  a  Supervisor,  if  he  thinks  he  needs  one;  and 
that's  why  the  cattle  business  takes  precedence  over  the  fire 
business." 

"It's  an  outrage!"  cried  Bob.  "We  ought  to  report  him 
for  neglect  of  duty." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  179 

Welton  chuckled. 

"I  didn't  tell  you  this  to  get  you  mad,  Bobby,"  he  drawled 
with  his  indescribable  air  of  good  humour;  "only  to  show 
you  the  situation.  What  difference  does  it  make?  As  for 
reporting  to  Washington!  Look  here,  I  don't  know  what 
Plant's  political  backing  is,  but  it  must  be  99.84  per  cent, 
pure.  Otherwise,  how  would  a  man  as  fat  as  that  get  a  job 
of  Forest  Supervisor?  Why,  he  can't  ride  a  horse,  and  it's 
absurd  to  suppose  he  ever  saw  any  of  the  Reserve  he's  in 
charge  of." 

Welton  bestirred  himself  to  good  purpose.  Inside  of  two 
hours  a  half-dozen  men,  well-mounted  and  provisioned, 
bearing  the  usual  tools  of  the  fire-fighter,  had  ridden  off 
into  the  growing  brightness  of  the  moon. 

"There,"  said  the  lumberman  with  satisfaction.  "That 
isn't  going  to  cost  much,  and  we'll  feel  safe.  Now  let's 
turn  in." 


Ill 

THE  next  morning  Bob  was  awakened  to  a  cold  dawn 
that  became  still  more  shivery  when  he  had  dressed 
and  stepped  outside.  Even  a  hot  breakfast  helped 
little;  and  when  the  blackboard  was  brought  around,  he 
mounted  to  his  seat  without  any  great  enthusiasm.  The 
mountain  rose  dark  and  forbidding,  high  against  the  eastern 
sky,  and  a  cold  wind  breathed  down  its  defiles.  When  the 
wiry  little  ponies  slowed  to  the  first  stretches  of  the  tiresome 
climb,  Bob  was  glad  to  walk  alongside. 

Almost  immediately  the  pines  began.  They  were  short 
and  scrubby  as  yet,  but  beautiful  in  the  velvet  of  their  dark 
green  needles.  Bob  glanced  at  them  critically.  They  were 
perhaps  eighty  to  a  hundred  feet  high  and  from  a  foot  to 
thirty  inches  in  diameter. 

"Fair  timber/'  he  commented  to  his  companion. 

Welton  snorted.  "Timber!"  he  cried.  "That  isn't 
timber;  it's  weeds.  There's  no  timber  on  this  slope  of  the 
mountain." 

Slowly  the  ponies  toiled  up  the  steep  grade,  pausing  often 
for  breath.  Among  the  pines  grew  many  oaks,  buckthorns, 
tall  manzanitas  and  the  like.  As  the  valley  dropped  beneath, 
they  came  upon  an  occasional  budding  dogwood.  Over 
the  slopes  of  some  of  the  hills  spread  a  mantle  of  velvety 
vivid  green,  fair  as  the  grass  of  a  lawn,  but  indescribably 
soft  and  mobile.  It  lent  those  declivities  on  which  it  grew 
a  spacious,  well-kept,  park  appearance,  on  which  Bob 
exclaimed  with  delight. 

But  Welton  would  have  none  of  it. 

"Bear  clover,"  said  he,  "full  of  pitch  as  an  old  jack-pine. 

180 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  181 

Burns  like  coal  oil,  and  you  can't  hardly  cut  it  with  a  hoe. 
Worst  stuff  to  carry  fire  and  to  fight  fire  in  you  ever  saw. 
Pick  a  piece  and  smell  it." 

Bob  broke  off  one  of  the  tough,  woody  stems.  A  pungent 
odour  exactly  like  that  of  extract  of  hamamelis  met  his 
nostrils.  Then  he  realized  that  all  the  time  he  had  been 
aware  of  this  perfume  faintly  disengaging  itself  from  the 
hills.  In  spite  of  Mr.  Welton's  disgust,  Bob  liked  its  clean, 
pungent  suggestion. 

The  road  mounted  always,  following  the  contour  of  the 
mountains.  Thus  it  alternately  emerged  and  crept  on 
around  bold  points,  and  bent  back  into  the  recesses  of 
ravines.  Clear,  beautiful  streams  dashed  and  sang  down 
the  latter;  from  the  former,  often,  Bob  could  look  out  over 
the  valley  from  which  they  had  mounted,  across  the  foothills, 
to  the  distant,  yellowing  plains  far  on  the  horizon,  lost  finally 
in  brown  heat  waves.  Sycamore  Flats  lay  almost  directly 
below.  Always  it  became  smaller,  and  more  and  more  like 
a  coloured  relief-map  with  tiny,  Noah's-ark  houses.  The 
forest  grew  sturdily  on  the  steep  mountain.  Bob's  eyes 
were  on  a  level  with  the  tops  of  trees  growing  but  a  few 
hundred  feet  away.  The  horizon  line  was  almost  at  eleven 
o'clock  above  him. 

"How'd  you  handle  this  kind  of  a  proposition?"  he 
inquired.  "Looks  to  me  like  hard  sledding." 

"This  stuff  is  no  good,"  said  Welton.  "These  little, 
yellow  pines  ain't  worth  cutting.  This  is  all  Forest  Reserve 
stuff." 

Bob  glanced  again  down  the  aisles  of  what  looked  to  him 
like  a  noble  forest,  but  said  nothing.  He  was  learning,  in 
this  land  of  surprises,  to  keep  his  mouth  shut. 

At  the  end  of  two  hours  Welton  drew  up  beside  a  new 
water  trough  to  water  the  ponies. 

"There,"  he  remarked  casually,  "is  the  first  sugar  pine." 

Bob's  eye  followed  the  indication  of  his  whip  to  the  spread- 
ing, graceful  arms  of  a  tree  so  far  up  the  bed  of  the  stream 


1 82          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

that  he  could  make  out  only  its  top.  The  ponies,  refreshed, 
resumed  their  methodical  plodding. 

Insensibly,  as  they  mounted,  the  season  had  changed. 
The  oaks  that,  at  the  level  of  Sycamore  Flats,  had  been  in 
full  leaf,  here  showed  but  the  tender  pinks  and  russets  of  the 
first  foliage.  The  dogwoods  were  quite  dormant.  Rivulets 
of  seepage  and  surface  water  trickled  in  the  most  unexpected 
places  as  though  from  snow  recently  melted. 

Of  climbing  there  seemed  no  end.  False  skylines  recur- 
rently deceived  Bob  into  a  belief  that  the  buckboard  was 
about  to  surmount  the  top.  Always  the  rise  proved  to  be 
preliminary  to  another.  The  road  dipped  behind  little 
spurs,  climbed  ravines,  lost  itself  between  deep  cuts.  Only 
rarely  did  the  forest  growths  permit  a  view,  and  then  only 
in  glimpses  between  the  tops  of  trees.  In  the  valley  and 
against  the  foothills  now  intervened  the  peaceful  and  calm 
blue  atmosphere  of  distance. 

"  I'd  no  idea  from  looking  at  it  this  mountain  was  so  high," 
he  told  Welton. 

"You  never  do,"  said  Welton.  "They  always  fool  you. 
We're  pretty  nigh  the  top  now." 

Indeed,  for  a  little  space  the  forest  had  perforce  to  thin 
because  of  lack  of  footing.  The  slope  became  almost  a 
precipice,  ending  in  a  bold  comb  above  which  once  more 
could  be  glimpsed  the  tops  of  trees.  Quite  ingeniously  the 
road  discovered  a  cleft  up  which  it  laboured  mightily,  to  land 
breathless  after  a  heart-breaking  pull.  Just  over  the  top 
Welton  drew  rein  to  breathe  his  horses  —  and  to  hear  what 
Bob  had  to  say  about  it. 

The  buckboard  stood  at  the  head  of  a  long,  gentle  slope 
descending,  perhaps  fifty  feet,  to  a  plateau;  which,  in  turn, 
rose  to  another  crest  some  miles  distant.  The  level  of  this 
plateau,  which  comprised,  perhaps,  thirty  thousand  acres 
all  told,  supported  a  noble  and  unbroken  forest. 

Mere  statistics  are  singularly  unavailing  to  convey  even 
an  idea  of  a  California  woodland  at  its  best.  We  are  not 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          183 

here  dealing  with  the  so-called  "Big  Trees,"  but  with  the 
ordinary  —  or  extraordinary  —  pines  and  spruces.  The 
forest  is  free  from  dense  undergrowths;  the  individual  trees 
are  enormous,  yet  so  symmetrical  that  the  eye  can  realize 
their  size  only  when  it  catches  sight  of  some  usual  and  accus- 
tomed object,  such  as  men  or  horses  or  the  buildings  in  which 
they  live.  Even  then  it  is  quite  as  likely  that  the  measures 
will  appear  to  have  been  struck  small,  as  that  the  measured 
will  show  in  their  true  grandeur  of  proportion.  The  eye 
refuses  to  be  convinced  off-hand  that  its  education  has  been 
faulty. 

"Now,"  said  Welton  decidedly.  "We  may  as  well  have 
it  over  with  right  now.  How  big  is  that  young  tree  over 
there?" 

He  pointed  out  a  half-grown  specimen  of  sugar  pine. 

"About  twenty  inches  in  diameter,"  replied  Bob  promptly. 

Welton  silently  handed  him  a  tape  line.     Bob  descended. 

"Thirty-seven!"  he  cried  with  vast  astonishment,  when 
his  measurements  were  taken  and  his  computations  made. 

"Now  that  one,"  commanded  Welton,  indicating  a  larger 
tree. 

Bob  sized  it  up. 

"No  fair  looking  at  the  other  for  comparison,"  warned 
the  older  man. 

"Forty,"  hesitated  Bob,  "and  I  don't  believe  it's  that!" 
he  added.  "  Four  feet,"  he  amended  when  he  had  measured. 

"Climb  in,"  said  Welton;  "now  you're  in  a  proper  frame 
of  mind  to  listen  to  me  with  respect.  The  usual  run  of  tree 
you  see  down  through  here  is  from  five  to  eight  feet  in  diam- 
eter. They  are  about  all  over  two  hundred  feet  tall,  and 
some  run  close  to  three  hundred." 

Bob  sighed.  "  All  right.  Drive  on.  I'll  get  used  to  it  in 
time."  His  face  lighted  up  with  a  grin.  "Say,  wouldn't 
you  like  to  see  Roaring  Dick  trying  to  handle  one  of  those 
logs  with  a  peavie?  As  for  driving  a  stream  full  of  them! 
Oh,  Lord!  You'd  have  to  send  'em  down  one  at  a  time, 


1 84         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

fitted  out  with  staterooms  for  the  crew,  a  rudder  and  a  gaso- 
line engine!'' 

The  ponies  jogged  cheerfully  along  the  winding  road. 
Water  ran  everywhere,  or  stood  in  pools.  Under  the  young 
spruces  were  the  last  snowbanks.  Pushing  up  through  the 
wet  soil,  already  showed  early  snowplants,  those  strange, 
waxlike  towers  of  crimson.  After  a  time  they  came  to  a 
sidehill  where  the  woods  thinned.  There  still  stood  many 
trees,  but  as  the  buckboard  approached,  Bob  could  see  that 
they  were  cedars,  or  spruce,  or  smaller  specimens  of  the 
pines.  Prone  upon  the  ground,  like  naked  giants,  gleamed 
white  and  monstrous  the  peeled  bodies  of  great  trees.  A 
litter  of  "slash,"  beaten  down  by  the  winter,  cumbered  the 
ground,  and  retained  beneath  its  faded  boughs  soggy  and 
melting  drifts. 

"Had  some  'fallers'  in  here  last  year,"  explained  Welton 
briefly.  "Thought  we'd  have  some  logs  on  hand  when  it 
came  time  to  start  up." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  requested  Bob.  He  sprang  lightly  from 
the  vehicle,  and  scrambled  over  to  stand  alongside  the 
nearest  of  the  fallen  monsters.  He  could  just  see  over  it 
comfortably.  "My  good  heavens!"  said  he  soberly,  resum- 
ing his  seat.  "How  in  blazes  do  you  handle  them?" 

Welton  drove  on  a  few  paces,  then  pointed  with  his  whip. 
A  narrow  trough  made  of  small  peeled  logs  laid  parallel  and 
pegged  and  mortised  together  at  the  ends,  ran  straight  over 
the  next  hill. 

"  That's  a  chute,"  he  explained  briefly.  "  We  hitch  a  wire 
cable  to  the  log  and  just  naturally  yank  it  over  to  the  chute." 

"How  yank  it?"  demanded  Bob. 

"  By  a  good,  husky  donkey  engine.  Then  the  chute  poles 
are  slushed,  we  hitch  cables  on  four  or  five  logs,  and  just 
tow  them  over  the  hill  to  the  mill." 

Bob's  enthusiasm,  as  always,  was  growing  with  the  pres- 
entation of  this  new  and  mighty  problem  of  engineering  so 
succinctly  presented.  It  sounded  simple;  but  from  his 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          185 

two  years*  experience  he  knew  better.  He  was  becoming 
accustomed  to  filling  in  the  outlines  of  pure  theory.  At  a 
glance  he  realized  the  importance  of  such  things  as  adequate 
anchors  for  the  donkey  engines;  of  figuring  on  straight  pulls, 
horse  power  and  the  breaking  strain  of  steel  cables;  of 
arranging  curves  in  such  manner  as  to  obviate  ditching  the 
logs,  of  selecting  grades  and  routes  in  such  wise  as  to  avoid 
the  lift  of  the  stretched  cable;  and  more  dimly  he  guessed  at 
other  accidents,  problems  and  necessities  which  only  the 
emergency  could  fully  disclose.  All  he  said  was: 

"  So  that's  why  you  bark  them  all  —  so  they'll  slide.  I 
wondered." 

But  now  the  ponies,  who  had  often  made  this  same  trip, 
pricked  up  their  ears  and  accelerated  their  pace.  In  a 
moment  they  had  rounded  a  hill  and  brought  their  masters 
into  full  view  of  the  mill  itself. 

The  site  was  in  a  wide,  natural  clearing  occupied  originally 
by  a  green  meadow  perhaps  a  dozen  acres  in  extent.  From 
the  borders  of  this  park  the  forest  had  drawn  back  to  a  dark 
fringe.  Now  among  the  trees  at  the  upper  end  gleamed 
the  yellow  of  new,  unpainted  shanties.  Square  against  the 
prospect  was  the  mill,  a  huge  structure,  built  of  axe-hewn 
timbers,  rough  boards,  and  the  hand-rived  shingles  known 
as  shakes.  Piece  by  piece  the  machinery  had  been  hauled 
up  the  mountain  road  until  enough  had  been  assembled  on 
the  space  provided  for  it  by  the  axe  men  to  begin  sawing. 
Then,  like  some  strange  monster,  it  had  eaten  out  for  itself 
at  once  a  space  in  the  forest  and  the  materials  for  its  shell 
and  for  the  construction  of  its  lesser  dependents,  the  shanties, 
the  cook-houses,  the  offices  and  the  shops.  Welton  pointed 
out  with  pride  the  various  arrangements;  here  the  flats  and 
the  trestles  for  the  yards  where  the  new-sawn  lumber  was 
to  be  stacked;  there  the  dump  for  the  sawdust  and  slabs; 
yonder  the  banking  ground  constructed  of  great  logs  laid 
close  together,  wherein  the  timber-logs  would  be  deposited 
to  await  the  saw. 


1 86          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

From  the  lower  end  of  the  yard  a  trestle  supporting  a 
V-shaped  trough  disappeared  over  the  edge  of  a  hill.  Near 
its  head  a  clear  stream  cascaded  down  the  slope. 

"  That's  the  flume,"  explained  the  lumberman.  "  Brought 
the  stream  around  from  the  head  of  the  meadow  in  a  ditch. 
We'll  flume  the  sawn  lumber  down  the  mountain.  For  the 
present  we'll  have  to  team  it  out  to  the  railroad.  Your 
friend  Baker's  figuring  on  an  electric  road  to  meet  us,  though, 
and  I  guess  we'll  fix  it  up  with  him  inside  a  few  years, 
anyway." 

" Where's  Stone  Creek  from  here?"  asked  Bob. 

"Over  the  farther  ridge.  The  mountain  drops  off  again 
there  to  Stone  Creek  three  or  four  thousand  feet." 

"We  ought  to  hear  from  the  fire,  soon." 

"If  we  don't,  we'll  ride  over  that  way  and  take  a  look 
down,"  replied  Welton. 

They  drove  down  the  empty  yards  to  a  stable  where 
already  was  established  their  old  barn-boss  of  the  Michigan 
woods.  Four  or  five  big  freight  wagons  stood  outside,  and 
a  score  of  powerful  mules  rolled  and  sunned  themselves  in 
the  largest  corral.  Welton  nodded  toward  several  horses 
in  another  enclosure. 

"Pick  your  saddle  horse,  Bob,"  said  he.  "Straw  boss 
has  to  ride  in  this  country." 

"Make  it  the  oldest,  then,"  said  Bob. 

At  the  cookhouse  they  were  just  in  time  for  the  noon  meal. 
The  long,  narrow  room,  fresh  with  new  wood,  new  tables 
and  new  benches  in  preparation  for  the  crew  to  come,  looked 
bare  and  empty  with  its  handful  of  guests  huddled  at  one 
end.  These  were  the  teamsters,  the  stablemen,  the  care- 
takers and  a  few  early  arrivals.  The  remainder  of  the  crew 
was  expected  two  days  later. 

After  lunch  Bob  wandered  out  into  the  dazzling  sunlight. 
The  sky  was  wonderfully  blue,  the  trees  softly  green,  the 
new  boards  and  the  tiny  pile  of  sawdust  vividly  yellow. 
These  primary  colours  made  all  the  world.  The  air  breathed 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  187 

crisp  and  bracing,  with  just  a  dash  of  cold  in  the  nostrils 
that  contrasted  paradoxically  with  the  warm  balminess  of 
the  sunlight.  It  was  as  though  these  two  opposed  qualities, 
warmth  and  cold,  were  here  held  suspended  in  the  same 
medium  and  at  the  same  time.  Birds  flashed  like  spangles 
against  the  blue.  Others  sang  and  darted  and  scratched 
and  chirped  everywhere.  Tiny  chipmunks  no  bigger  than 
half-grown  rats  scampered  fearlessly  about.  What  Bob  took 
for  larger  chipmunks —  the  Douglas  Squirrels  —  perched 
on  the  new  fence  posts.  The  world  seemed  alive  —  alive 
through  its  creatures,  through  the  solemn,  uplifting  vitality 
of  its  forests,  through  the  sprouting,  budding  spring  growths 
just  bursting  into  green,  through  the  wine-draught  of  its 
very  air,  through  the  hurrying,  busy  preoccupied  murmur 
of  its  streams.  Bob  breathed  his  lungs  full  again  and  again, 
and  tingled  from  head  to  foot. 

"How  high  are  we  here?"  he  called  to  Welton. 

"About  six  thousand.     Why?     Getting  short-winded?" 

"I  could  run  ten  miles,"  replied  Bob.  "Come  on.  I'm 
going  to  look  at  the  stream." 

"Not  at  a  run,"  protested  Welton.  "No,  sir!  At  a  nice, 
middle-aged,  dignified,  fat  walk!11 

They  sauntered  down  the  length  of  the  trestle,  with  its 
miniature  steel  tracks,  to  where  the  flume  began.  It  proved 
to  be  a  very  solidly  built  V- trough,  alongside  which  ran  a 
footboard.  Welton  pointed  to  the  telephone  wire  that 
paralleled  it. 

"When  we  get  going,"  said  he,  "we  just  turn  the  stream 
in  here,  clamp  our  sawn  lumber  into  bundles  of  the  right 
size,  and  'let  her  went!'  There'll  be  three  stations  along 
the  line,  connected  by  'phone,  to  see  that  things  go  all  right. 
That  flume's  six  mile  long." 

Bob  strode  to  the  gate,  and  after  some  heaving  and  haul- 
ing succeeded  in  throwing  water  into  the  flume. 

"I  wanted  to  see  her  go,"  he  explained. 

"Now  if  you  want  some  real  fun,"  said  Welton,  gazing 


1 88          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

after  the  foaming  advance  wave  as  it  ripped  its  way  down 
the  chute.  "You  make  you  a  sort  of  three-cornered  boat 
just  to  fit  the  angle  of  the  flume;  and  then  you  lie  down  in 
it  and  go  to  Sycamore  Flats,  in  about  six  minutes  more  or 
less." 

"You  mean  to  say  that's  done?"  cried  Bob. 

"  Often.     It  only  means  knocking  together  a  plank  or  so." 

"Doesn't  the  lumber  ever  jump  the  flume?" 

"Once  in  a  great  while." 

"Suppose  the  boat  should  do  it?" 

"Then,"  said  Welton  drily,  "it's  probable  you'd  have  to 
begin  learning  to  tune  a  harp." 

"  Not  for  mine,"  said  Bob  with  fervour.  "  Any  time  I  yearn 
for  Sycamore  Flats  real  hard,  I'll  go  by  hand." 

He  shut  off  the  water,  and  the  two  walked  a  little  farther 
to  a  bold  point  that  pressed  itself  beyond  the  trees. 

Below  them  the  cliff  dropped  away  so  steeply  that  they 
looked  out  above  the  treetops  as  from  the  summit  of  a  true 
precipice.  Almost  directly  below  them  lay  the  wooded 
valley  of  Sycamore  Flats,  maplike,  tiny.  It  was  just  possible 
to  make  out  the  roofs  of  houses,  like  gray  dots.  Roads 
showed  as  white  filaments  threading  the  irregular  patches  of 
green  and  brown.  From  beneath  flowed  the  wide  oak  and 
brush-clad  foothills,  rising  always  with  the  apparent  cup  of 
the  earth  until  almost  at  the  height  of  the  eye  the  shimmering, 
dim  plains  substituted  their  brown  for  the  dark  green  of  the 
hills.  The  country  that  yesterday  had  seemed  mountainous, 
full  of  canons,  ridges  and  ranges,  now  showed  gently  undu- 
lating, flattened,  like  a  carpet  spread  before  the  feet  of  the 
Sierras.  To  the  north  were  tumbled,  blue,  pine-clad  moun- 
tains as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  receding  into  the  dimness 
of  great  distance.  At  one  point,  but  so  far  away  as  to  be 
distinguishable  only  by  a  slight  effort  of  the  imagination, 
hovered  like  soap-bubbles  against  an  ethereal  sky  the  forms 
of  snow  mountains.  Welton  pointed  out  the  approximate 
position  of  Yosemite. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  189 

They  returned  to  camp  where  Welton  showed  the  clean 
and  painted  little  house  built  for  Bob  and  himself.  It  was 
quite  simply  a  row  of  rooms  with  a  verandah  in  front  of  them 
all.  But  the  interiors  were  furnished  with  matting  for  the 
floors,  curtains  to  the  windows,  white  iron  bedsteads,  run- 
ning water  and  open  fireplaces. 

"I'm  sick  of  camping,"  said  Welton.  "This  is  our  sum- 
mer quarters  for  some  time.  I'm  going  to  be  comfortable." 

Bob  sighed. 

"This  is  the  bulliest  place  I  ever  saw!"  he  cried  boyishly. 

"Well,  you're  going  to  have  time  enough  to  get  used  to 
it,"  said  Welton  drily. 


IV 

THE  Stone  Creek  fire  indeed  proved  not  to  amount  to 
much,  whereby  sheer   chance  upheld   Henry  Plant. 
The  following  morning  the   fire   fighters   returned; 
leaving,  however,  two  of  their  number  to  "guard  the  line" 
until  the  danger  should  be  over.     Welton  explained  to  Bob 
that  only  the  fact  that  Stone  Creek  bottom  was  at  a  low 
elevation,  filled  with  brush  and  tarweed,  and  grown  thick 
with  young  trees  rendered  the  forest  even  inflammable  at 
this  time  of  year. 

"Anywhere  else  in  this  country  at  this  time  of  year  it 
wouldn't  do  any  harm,"  he  told  Bob,  "and  Plant  knew  it 
couldn't  get  out  of  the  basin.  He  didn't  give  a  cuss  how 
much  it  did  there.  But  we've  got  some  young  stuff  that 
would  easy  carry  a  top  fire.  Later  in  the  season  you  may 
see  some  tall  rustling  on  the  fire  lines." 

But  before  noon  of  that  day  a  new  complication  arose. 
Up  the  road  came  a  short,  hairy  man  on  a  mule.  His  beard 
grew  to  his  high  cheek  bones,  his  eyebrows  bristled  and 
jutted  out  over  his  black  eyes,  and  a  thick  shock  of  hair 
pushed  beneath  the  rim  of  his  hat  to  meet  the  eyebrows. 
The  hat  was  an  old  black  slouch,  misshapen,  stained  and 
dusty.  His  faded  shirt  opened  to  display  a  hairy  throat 
and  chest.  As  for  the  rest  he  was  short-limbed,  thick  and 
powerful. 

This  nondescript  individual  rode  up  to  the  verandah  on 
which  sat  Welton  and  Bob,  awaiting  the  lunch  bell.  He 
bowed  gravely,  and  dismounted. 

"Dis  ees  Meestair  Welton?"  he  inquired  with  a  courtesy 
at  strange  variance  with  his  uncouth  appearance. 

190 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          191 

Welton  nodded. 

"  I  am  Peter  Lejeune,"  said  the  newcomer,  announcing  one 
of  those  hybrid  names  so  common  among  the  transplanted 
French  and  Basques  of  California.  "  I  have  de  ship." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Welton  rising  and  going  forward  to  offer 
his  hand.  "  Come  up  and  sit  down,  Mr.  Leejune." 

The  hairy  man  "  tied  his  mule  to  the  ground"  by  dropping 
the  end  of  the  reins,  and  mounted  the  two  steps  to  the 
verandah. 

"This  is  my  assistant,  Mr.  Orde,"  said  Welton.  "How 
are  the  sheep  coming  on?  Mr.  Leejune,'  he  told  Bob, 
"rents  the  grazing  in  our  timber." 

"Et  is  not  coming,"  stated  Lejeune  with  a  studied  calm. 
"Plant  he  riffuse  permit  to  cross." 

"Permit  to  what?"  asked  Welton. 

"To  cross  hees  fores',  gov'ment  fores'.  I  can'  get  in  here 
widout  cross  gov'ment  land.  I  got  to  get  permit  from  Plant. 
Plant  he  riffuse." 

Welton  rose,  staring  at  his  visitor. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  cried  at  last,  "that  a  man 
hasn't  got  a  right  to  get  into  his  own  land  ?  That  they  can 
keep  a  man  out  of  his  own  land?" 

"Da's  right,"  nodded  the  Frenchman. 

"  But  you've  been  in  here  for  ten  years  or  so  to  my  knowl- 
edge." 

Abruptly  the  sheepman's  calm  fell  from  him.  He  became 
wildly  excited.  His  black  eyes  snapped,  his  hair  bristled, 
he  arose  from  his  chair  and  gesticulated. 

"Every  year  I  geev  heem  three  ship!  Three  ship!"  he 
repeated,  thrusting  three  stubby  fingers  at  Wei  ton's  face. 
"Three  little  ship!  I  stay  all  summer!  He  never  say  per- 
mit. Thees  year  he  kip  me  out." 

"Give  any  reason?"  asked  Welton. 

"  He  say  my  ship  feed  over  the  line  in  gov'ment  land." 

"Did  they?" 

"Mebbe  so,  little  bit.     Mebbe  not.     Nobody  show  me 


192          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

line.  Nobody  pay  no  'tention.  I  feed  thees  range  ten 
year." 

"Did  you  give  him  three  sheep  this  year?" 

"Sure." 

Welton  sighed. 

"I  can't  go  down  and  tend  to  this,"  said  he.  "My  fore- 
men are  here  to  be  consulted,  and  the  crews  will  begin  to 
come  in  to-morrow.  You'll  have  to  go  and  see  what's  eat- 
ing this  tender  Plant,  Bob.  Saddle  up  and  ride  down  with 
Mr.  Leejune." 

Bob  took  his  first  lesson  in  Western  riding  behind  Lejeune 
and  his  stolid  mule.  He  had  ridden  casually  in  the  East, 
as  had  most  young  men  of  his  way  of  life,  but  only  enough 
to  make  a  fair  showing  on  a  gentle  and  easy  horse.  His 
present  mount  was  gentle  and  easy  enough,  but  Bob  was 
called  upon  to  admire  feats  of  which  a  Harlem  goat  might 
have  been  proud.  Lejeune  soon  turned  off  the  wagon  road 
to  make  his  way  directly  down  the  side  of  the  mountain. 
Bob  possessed  his  full  share  of  personal  courage,  but  in  this 
unaccustomed  skirting  of  precipices,  hopping  down  ledges, 
and  sliding  down  inclines  too  steep  to  afford  a  foothold  he 
found  himself  leaning  inward,  sitting  very  light  in  the  sad- 
dle, or  holding  his  breath  until  a  passage  perilous  was 
safely  passed.  In  the  next  few  years  he  had  occasion  to 
drop  down  the  mountainside  a  great  many  times.  After 
the  first  few  trips  he  became  so  thoroughly  accustomed  that 
he  often  wondered  how  he  had  ever  thought  this  scary  riding. 
Now,  however,  he  was  so  busily  occupied  that  he  was  caught 
by  surprise  when  Lejeune's  mule  turned  off  through  a  patch 
of  breast-high  manzafiita  and  he  found  himself  traversing 
the  gentler  slope  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  Ten  minutes 
later  they  entered  Sycamore  Flats. 

Then  Bob  had  leisure  to  notice  an  astonishing  change  of 
temperature.  At  the  mill  the  air  had  been  almost  cold  — 
entirely  so  out  of  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun.  Here  it  was  as 
hot  as  though  from  a  furnace.  Passing  the  store,  Bob  saw 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          193 

that  the  tall  thermometer  there  stood  at  96  degrees.  The 
day  was  unseasonable,  but  later,  in  the  August  heats,  Bob 
had  often,  to  his  sorrow,  to  test  the  difference  between  six 
thousand  and  two  thousand  feet  of  elevation.  From  a  clear, 
crisp  late-spring  climate  he  would  descend  in  two  hours  to 
a  temperature  of  105  degrees. 

Henry  Plant  was  discovered  sprawled  out  in  an  armchair 
beneath  a  spreading  tree  in  the  front  yard.  His  coat  was  off 
and  his  vest  unbuttoned  to  display  a  vast  and  billowing 
expanse  of  soiled  white  shirt.  In  his  hand  was  a  palm-leaf 
fan,  at  his  elbow  swung  an  olla,  newspapers  littered  the 
ground  or  lay  across  his  fat  knees.  When  Bob  and  Lejeune 
entered,  he  merely  nodded  surlily,  and  went  on  with  his 
reading. 

"Can  I  speak  to  you  a  moment  on  business?"  asked 
Bob. 

By  way  of  answer  the  fat  man  dropped  his  paper,  and 
mopped  his  brow. 

"We've  rented  our  sheep  grazing  to  Mr.  Lejeune,  here, 
as  I  understand  we've  been  doing  for  some  years.  He  tells 
ine  you  have  refused  him  permission  to  cress  the  Forest 
Reserve  with  his  flocks." 

"That's  right,"  grunted  Plant. 

"What  for?" 

"I  believe,  young  man,  granting  permits  is  discretionary 
with  the  Supervisor,"  stated  that  individual. 

"I  suppose  so,"  agreed  Bob.  "But  Mr.  Lejeune  has 
always  had  permission  before.  What  reason  do  you  assign 
for  refusing  it?" 

"Wilful  trespass,"  wheezed  Plant.  "That's  what,  young 
man.  His  sheep  grazed  over  our  line.  He's  lucky  that 
I  don't  have  him  up  before  the  United  States  courts  for 
damages  as  well." 

Lejeune  started  to  speak,  but  Bob  motioned  him  to  silence. 

"I'm  sure  we  could  arrange  for  past  damages,  and  guar- 
antee against  any  future  trespass,"  said  he. 


194          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Well,  I'm  sure  you  can't,"  stated  Plant  positively. 
"  Good  day." 

But  Bob  was  not  willing  to  give  up  thus  easily.  He  gave 
his  best  efforts  either  to  arguing  Plant  into  a  better  frame 
of  mind,  or  to  discovering  some  tangible  reason  for  his  sud- 
den change  of  front  in  regard  to  the  sheep. 

"It's  no  use,"  he  told  Lejeune,  later,  as  they  walked  down 
the  street  together.  "He's  undoubtedly  the  right  to  refuse 
permits  for  cause ;  and  technically  he  has  cause  if  your  sheep 
got  over  the  line." 

"But  what  shall  I  do!"  cried  Lejeune.  "My  ship  mus' 
have  feed!" 

"You  pasture  them  or  feed  them  somewhere  for  a  week 
or  so,  and  I'll  let  you  know,"  said  Bob.  "We'll  get  you  on 
the  land  or  see  you  through  somewhere  else." 

He  mounted  his  horse  stiffly  and  rode  back  up  the  street. 
Plant  still  sat  in  his  armchair  like  a  bloated  spider.  On 
catching  sight  of  Bob,  however,  he  heaved  himself  to  his 
feet  and  waddled  to  the  gate. 

"Here!"  he  called.  Bob  drew  rein.  "It  has  been 
reported  to  me  that  your  firm  has  constructed  a  flume  across 
36,  and  a  wagon  road  across  14,  22,  28,  and  32.  Those  are 
government  sections.  I  suppose,  of  course,  your  firm  has 
permits  from  Washington  to  build  said  improvements?" 

"Naturally,"  said  Bob,  who,  however,  knew  nothing 
whatever  of  those  details. 

"Well,  I'll  send  a  man  up  to  examine  them  to-morrow," 
said  Plant,  and  turned  his  back. 


BO  B  took  supper  at  Auntie  Belle's,  and  rode  up  the 
mountain  after  dark.  He  did  not  attempt  short 
cuts,  but  allowed  his  horse  to  follow  the  plain  grade 
of  the  road.  After  a  time  the  moon  crept  over  the  zenith, 
and  at  once  the  forest  took  on  a  fairylike  strangeness,  as 
though  at  the  touch  of  night  new  worlds  had  taken  the  place 
of  the  vanished  old.  Somewhere  near  midnight,  his  body 
shivering  with  the  mountain  cold,  his  legs  stiff  and  chafed 
from  the  long,  unaccustomed  riding,  but  his  mind  filled  with 
the  wonder  and  beauty  of  the  mountain  night,  Bob  drew 
rein  beside  the  corrals.  After  turning  in  his  horse,  he 
walked  through  the  bright  moonlight  to  Welton's  door,  on 
which  he  hammered. 

"Hey!"  called  the  lumberman  from  within. 

"It's  I,  Bob." 

Welton  scratched  a  match. 

"Why  in  blazes  didn't  you  come  up  in  the  morning?" 
tye  inquired. 

"Ive  found  out  another  and  perhaps  important  hole 
we're  in." 

"Can  we  do  anything  to  help  ourselves  out  before  morn- 
ing?" demanded  Welton.  "No?  Well,  sleep  tight!  I'll 
see  you  at  six." 

Next  morning  Welton  rolled  out,  as  good-humoured  and 
deliberate  as  ever. 

"My  boy,"  said  he.  "When  you  get  to  be  as  old  as  I  am, 
you'll  never  stir  up  trouble  at  night  unless  you  can  fix  it 
then.  What  is  it?" 

Bob  detailed  his  conversation  with  Plant. 


196          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  that  old,  fat  skunk  had  the 
nerve  to  tell  you  he  was  going  to  send  a  ranger  to  look  at 
our  permit?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes.     That's  what  he  said." 

"The  miserable  hound!  Why  I  went  to  see  him  a  year 
ago  about  crossing  this  strip  with  our  road  —  we  had  to 
haul  a  lot  of  stuff  in.  He  told  me  to  go  ahead  and  haul, 
and  that  he'd  fix  it  up  when  the  time  came.  Since  then  I've 
tackled  him  two  or  three  times  about  it,  but  he's  always 
told  me  to  go  ahead;  that  it  was  all  right.  So  we  went 
ahead.  It's  always  been  a  matter  of  form,  this  crossing 
permit  business.  It's  meant  to  be  a  matter  of  form!" 

After  breakfast  Welton  ordered  his  buckboard  and,  in 
company  with  Bob,  drove  down  the  mountain  again.  Plant 
was  discovered  directing  the  activities  of  several  men,  who 
were  loading  a  light  wagon  with  provisions  and  living  utensils. 

"Moving  up  to  our  summer  camp,"  one  of  them  told  Bob. 
"  Getting  too  hot  down  here." 

Plant  received  them,  his  fat  face  expressionless,  and  led 
them  into  the  stuffy  little  office. 

"Look  here,  Plant,"  said  Welton,  without  a  trace  of 
irritation  on  his  weatherbeaten,  round  countenance. 
"What's  all  this  about  seeing  a  permit  to  cross  those  govern- 
ment sections?  You  know  very  well  I  haven't  any  permit." 

"I  have  been  informed  by  my  men  that  you  have  corfe- 
structed  or  caused  to  be  constructed  a  water  flume  through 
section  36,  and  a  road  through  sections  14,  22,  28  and  32. 
If  this  has  been  done  without  due  authorization  you  are 
liable  for  trespass.  Fine  of  not  less  than  $200  or  imprison- 
ment for  not  less  than  twelve  months  —  or  both."  He 
delivered  this  in  a  voice  absolutely  devoid  of  expression. 

"  But  you  told  me  to  go  ahead,  and  that  you'd  attend  to  the 
details,  and  it  would  be  all  right,"  said  Welton. 

"You  must  have  misunderstood  me,"  replied  Plant 
blandly.  "It  is  against  my  sworn  duty  to  permit  such  occu- 
pation of  public  land  without  due  conformity  to  law.  It  is 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          197 

within  «iy  discretion  whether  to  report  the  trespass  for  legal 
action.  I  am  willing  to  believe  that  you  have  acted  in  this 
matter  without  malicious  intent.  But  the  trespass  must 
cease." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Welton. 

"  You  must  not  use  that  road  as  a  highway,  nor  the  flume, 
and  you  must  remove  the  flume  within  a  reasonable  time. 
Or  else  you  may  still  get  a  permit." 

"How  long  would  that  take?"  asked  Welton.  "Could 
it  be  done  by  wire?" 

Plant  lifted  a  glazed  and  fishy  eye  to  survey  him. 

"You  would  be  required  to  submit  in  writing  specifications 
of  the  length  and  location  of  said  road  and  flume.  This 
must  be  accompanied  by  a  topographical  map  and  details 
of  construction.  I  shall  then  send  out  field  men  to  investi- 
gate, after  which,  endorsed  with  my  approval,  it  goes  for 
final  decision  to  the  Secretary  of  the  Interior." 

"Good  Lord,  man!"  cried  Welton,  aghast.  "That 
would  take  all  summer!  And  besides,  I  made  out  all 
that  tomfoolery  last  summer.  I  supposed  you  must  have 
unwound  all  that  red  tape  long  ago!" 

Plant  for  the  first  time  looked  his  interlocutor  square  in 
the  eye. 

"I  find  among  my  records  no  such  application,"  he  said 
deliberately. 

Welton  stared  at  him  a  moment,  then  laughed. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Plant,  I'll  see  what's  to  be  done,"  said  he; 
and  went  out. 

In  silence  the  two  walked  down  the  street  until  out  of 
earshot.  Then  Bob  broke  out. 

"I'd  like  to  punch  his  fat  carcass!"  he  cried.  "The  old 
liar!" 

Welton  laughed. 

"It  all  goes  to  show  that  a  man's  never  too  old  to  learn. 
He's  got  us  plain  enough  just  because  this  old  man  was  too 
busy  to  wake  up  to  the  fact  that  these  government  grafters 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

are  so  strong  out  here.  Back  our  way  when  you  needed  a 
logging  road,  you  just  built  it,  and  paid  for  the  unavoidable 
damage,  and  that's  all  there  was  to  it." 

"You  take  it  cool,"  spluttered  Bob. 

"No  use  taking  it  any  other  way,"  replied  Welton.  "But 
the  situation  is  serious.  We've  got  our  plant  in  shape,  and 
our  supplies  in,  and  our  men  engaged.  It  would  be  bad 
enough  to  shut  down  with  all  that  expense.  But  the  main 
trouble  is,  we're  under  contract  to  deliver  our  mill  run  to 
Marshall  &  Harding.  We  can't  forfeit  that  contract  and 
stay  in  business." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  asked  Bob. 

"  Get  on  the  wires  to  your  father  in  Washington,"  replied 
Welton.  "Lucky  your  friend  Baker's  power  project  is  only 
four  miles  away;  we  can  use  his  'phone." 

But  at  the  edge  of  town  they  met  Lejeune. 

"I  got  de  ship  in  pasture,"  he  told  Bob.  "But  hees 
good  for  not  more  dan  one  wik." 

"Look  here,  Leejune,"  said  Welton.  "I'm  sorry,  but 
you'll  have  to  look  up  another  range  for  this  summer.  Of 
course,  we'll  pay  any  loss  or  damage  in  the  matter.  It  looks 
impossible  to  do  anything  with  Plant." 

The  Frenchman  threw  up  both  hands  and  broke  into 
voluble  explanations.  From  them  the  listeners  gathered 
more  knowledge  in  regard  to  the  sheep  business  than  they 
could  have  learned  by  observation  in  a  year.  Briefly,  it 
was  necessary  that  the  sheep  have  high-country  feed,  at 
once;  the  sheepmen  apportioned  the  mountains  among 
themselves,  so  that  each  had  his  understood  range;  it  would 
now  be  impossible  to  find  anywhere  another  range;  only 
sometimes  could  one  trade  localities  with  another,  but  that 
must  be  arranged  earlier  in  the  season  before  the  flocks  are 
in  the  hills  —  in  short,  affairs  were  at  a  critical  point,  where 
Lejeune  must  have  feed,  and  no  other  feed  was  to  be  had 
except  that  for  which  he  had  in  all  confidence  contracted. 
Welton  listened  thoughtfully,  his  eyes  between  his  horses. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  199 

"Can  you  run  those  sheep  in,  at  night,  or  somehow?" 

The  Frenchman's  eyes  sparkled. 

"I  run  ship  two  year  in  Yosemite  Park,"  he  bragged. 
"  No  soldier  fin'  me." 

" That's  no  great  shakes,"  said  Welton  drily,  "from  what 
I've  seen  of  Park  soldiers.  If  you  can  sneak  these  sheep 
across  without  getting  caught,  you  do  it." 

"I  snik  ship  across  all  right,"  said  Lejeune.  "But  I  can* 
stop  hees  track.  The  ranger  he  know  I  cross  all  right." 

"What's  the  penalty?"  asked  Welton. 

"Mos'ly  'bout  one  hundred  dollars,"  replied  Lejeune 
promptly.  "  Mebbe  five  hundred." 

Welton  sighed.  "Is  that  the  limit?"  he  asked.  "Not 
more  than  five  hundred?" 

"No.     Dat  all." 

"Well,  it'll  take  a  good  half  of  the  rent  to  get  you  in,  if 
they  soak  us  the  limit;  but  you're  up  against  it,  and  we'll 
stand  back  of  you.  If  we  agreed  to  give  you  that  grazing, 
by  God,  you'll  get  it,  as  long  as  that  land  is  ours." 

He  nodded  and  drove  on,  while  Lejeune,  the  true  sheep- 
man's delight  in  dodging  the  officers  burning  strong  within 
his  breast,  turned  his  mule's  head  to  the  lower  country. 


VI 

THE  full  situation,  as  far  as  the  wires  could  tell  It,  was 
laid  before  Jack  Orde  in  Washington.    A  detailed 
letter  followed.    Toward  evening  of  that  day  the 
mill  crews  began  to  come  in  with  the  four-  and  six-horse 
teams    provided    for   their   transportation.    They   were   a 
dusty  but  hilarious  lot.    The  teams  drew  up  underneath 
the  solitary  sycamore  tree  that  gave  the  place  its  name,  and 
at  once  went  into  camp.     Bob  strolled  down  to  look  them 
over. 

They  proved  to  be  fresh-faced,  strong  farm  boys,  for  the 
most  part,  with  a  fair  sprinkling  of  older  mountaineers,  and 
quite  a  contingent  of  half-  and  quarter-bred  Indians.  All 
these  people  worked  on  ranches  or  in  the  towns  during  the 
off  season  when  the  Sierras  were  buried  under  winter  snows. 
Their  skill  at  woodsmanship  might  be  undoubted,  but  the 
intermittent  character  of  their  work  precluded  any  develop- 
ment of  individual  type,  like  the  rivermen  and  shanty  boys 
of  the  vanished  North.  For  a  moment  Bob  experienced  a 
twinge  of  regret  that  the  old,  hard,  picturesque  days  of  his 
Northern  logging  were  indeed  gone.  Then  the  interest  of 
this  great  new  country  with  its  surging  life  and  its  new 
problems  gripped  him  hard.  He  left  these  decent,  hard- 
working, self-respecting  ranch  boys,  these  quiet  mountaineers, 
these  stolid,  inscrutable  breeds  to  their  flickering  camp  fire. 
Next  morning  the  many-seated  vehicles  filled  early  and 
started  up  the  road.  But  within  a  mile  Welton  and  Bob  in 
their  buckboard  came  upon  old  California  John  square  in 
the  middle  of  the  way.  Star  stood  like  a  magnificent  statue 
except  that  slowly  over  and  over,  with  relish,  he  turned  the 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  201 

wheel  of  the  silver-mounted  spade-bit  under  his  tongue.  As 
the  ranger  showed  no  indication  of  getting  out  of  the  way, 
Welton  perforce  came  to  a  halt. 

"Road  closed  to  trespass  by  the  Wolverine  Company," 
the  ranger  stated  impassively. 

Welton  whistled. 

"That  mean  I  can't  get  to  my  own  property?"  he  asked. 

"My  orders  are  to  close  this  road  to  the  Wolverine 
Company." 

"Well,  you've  obeyed  orders.  Now  get  out  the  way. 
Tell  your  chief  he  can  go  ahead  on  a  trespass  suit." 

But  the  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"No,  you  don't  understand,"  he  repeated  patiently.  "My 
orders  were  to  close  the  road  to  the  Company,  not  just  to 
give  notice." 

Without  replying  Welton  picked  up  his  reins  and  started 
his  horses.  The  man  seemed  barely  to  shift  his  position, 
but  from  some  concealment  he  produced  a  worn  and  shiny 
Colt's.  This  he  laid  across  the  horn  of  his  saddle. 

"Stop,"  he  commanded,  and  this  time  his  voice  had  a 
bite  to  it. 

"Millions  for  defence,"  chuckled  Welton,  who  recognized 
perfectly  the  tone,  "and  how  much  did  you  say  for  tribute?" 

"What  say?"  inquired  the  old  man. 

"What  sort  of  a  hold-up  is  this?  We  certainly  can't  do 
this  road  any  damage  driving  over  it  once.  How  much  of 
an  inducement  does  Plant  want,  anyway?" 

"This  department  is  only  doing  its  sworn  duty,"  replied 
the  old  man.  His  blue  eyes  met  Welton's  steadily;  not  a 
line  of  his  weatherbeaten  face  changed.  For  twenty  seconds 
the  lumberman  tried  to  read  his  opponent's  mind. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  last.  "You  can  tell  your  chief  that 
if  he  thinks  he  can  annoy  and  harass  me  into  bribing  him 
to  be  decent,  he's  left." 

By  this  time  the  dust  and  creek  of  the  first  heavily  laden 
vehicle  had  laboured  up  to  within  a  few  hundred  yards. 


202          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"I  have  over  a  hundred  men  there,"  said  Welton,  "that 
I've  hired  to  work  for  me  at  the  top  of  that  mountain.  It's 
damn  foolishness  that  anybody  should  stop  their  going  there ; 
and  I'll  bet  they  won't  lose  their  jobs.  My  advice  to  you  is 
to  stand  one  side.  You  can't  stop  a  hundred  men  alone." 

"Yes,  I  can,"  replied  the  old  man  calmly.  "I'm  not 
alone." 

"No?"  said  Welton,  looking  about  him. 

"No;  there's  eighty  million  people  behind  that,"  said 
California  John,  touching  lightly  the  shield  of  his  Ranger 
badge.  The  simplicity  of  the  act  robbed  it  of  all  mock- 
heroics. 

Welton  paused,  a  frown  of  perplexity  between  his  brows. 
California  John  was  watching  him  calmly. 

"Of  course,  the  public  has  a  right  to  camp  in  all  Forest 
Reserves  —  subject  to  reg'lation,"  he  proffered. 

Welton  caught  at  this. 

"You  mean " 

"No,  you  got  to  turn  back,  and  your  Company's  rigs 
have  got  to  turn  back,"  said  California  John.  "But  I 
sure  ain't  no  orders  to  stop  no  campers." 

Welton  nodded  briefly;  and,  after  some  difficulty,  suc- 
ceeding in  turning  around,  he  drove  back  down  the  grade. 
After  he  had  bunched  the  wagons  he  addressed  the  assembled 
men. 

"Boys,"  said  he,  "there's  been  some  sort  of  a  row  with  the 
Government,  and  they've  closed  this  road  to  us  temporarily. 
I  guess  you'll  have  to  hoof  it  the  rest  of  the  way." 

This  was  no  great  and  unaccustomed  hardship,  and  no 
one  objected. 

"How  about  our  beds?"  inquired  some  one. 

This  presented  a  difficulty.  No  Western  camp  of  any 
description  —  lumber,  mining,  railroad,  cow  —  supplies  the 
bedding  for  its  men.  Camp  blankets  as  dealt  out  in  our  old- 
time  Northern  logging  camp  are  unknown.  Each  man  brings 
his  own  blankets,  which  he  further  augments  with  a  pair  of 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          203 

quilts,  a  pillow  and  a  heavy  canvas.  All  his  clothing  and 
personal  belongings  he  tucks  inside;  the  canvas  he  firmly 
lashes  outside.  Thus  instead  of  his  "turkey" — or  duffle- 
bag —  he  speaks  of  his  "bed  roll,"  and  by  that  term  means 
not  only  his  sleeping  equipment  but  often  all  his  worldly 
goods. 

"Can't  you  unhitch  your  horses  and  pack  them?"  asked 
Bob. 

"Sure,"  cried  several  mountaineers  at  once. 

Welton  chuckled. 

"That  sounds  like  it,"  he  approved;  "and  remember, 
boys,  you're  all  innocent  campers  out  to  enjoy  the  wonders 
and  beauties  of  nature." 

The  men  made  short  work  of  the  job.  In  a  twinkling 
the  horses  were  unhitched  from  the  vehicles.  Six  out  of 
ten  of  these  men  were  more  or  less  practised  at  throwing 
packing  hitches,  for  your  Californian  brought  up  in  sight 
of  mountains  is  often  among  them.  Bob  admired  the 
dexterity  with  which  some  of  the  mountaineers  improvised 
slings  and  drew  tight  the  bulky  and  cumbersome  packs. 
Within  half  an  hour  the  long  procession  was  under  way, 
a  hundred  men  and  fifty  horses.  They  filed  past  California 
John,  who  had  drawn  one  side. 

"Camping,  boys?"  he  asked  the  leader. 

The  man  nodded  and  passed  on.  California  John  sat 
at  ease,  his  elbow  on  the  pommel,  his  hand  on  his  chin,  his 
blue  eyes  staring  vacantly  at  the  silent  procession  filing 
before  him.  Star  stood  motionless,  his  head  high,  his  small 
ears  pricked  forward.  The  light  dust  peculiar  to  the  mount- 
ain soils  of  California,  stirred  by  many  feet,  billowed  and 
rolled  upward  through  the  pines.  Long  rays  of  sunlight 
cut  through  it  like  swords. 

"Now  did  you  ever  see  such  utter  damn  foolishness?" 
growled  Welton.  "Make  that  bunch  walk  all  the  way  up 
that  mountain!  What  on  earth  is  the  difference  whether 
they  walk  or  ride  ?  " 


204          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

But  Bob,  examining  closely  the  faded,  old  figure  on  the 
magnificent  horse,  felt  his  mind  vaguely  troubled  by  another 
notion.  He  could  not  seize  the  thought,  but  its  influence 
was  there.  Somehow  the  irritation  and  exasperation  had 
gone  from  the  episode. 

"  I  know  that  sort  of  crazy  old  mossback,"  muttered  Welton 
as  he  turned  down  the  mountain.  "Pin  a  tin  star  on  them 
and  they  think  they're  as  important  as  hell!" 

Bob  looked  back. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  vaguely.  "I'm  kind  of  for  that 
old  coon." 

The  bend  shut  him  out.  After  the  buckboard  had  dipped 
into  the  horseshoe  and  out  to  the  next  point,  they  again 
looked  back.  The  smoke  of  marching  rose  above  the  trees 
to  eddy  lazily  up  the  mountain.  California  John,  a  tiny 
figure  now,  still  sat  patiently  guarding  the  portals  of  an  empty 
duty. 


VII 

BOB  and  Welton  left  the  buckboard  at  Sycamore  Flats 
and  rode  up  to  the  mill  by  a  detour.  There  they 
plunged  into  active  work.  The  labour  of  getting 
the  new  enterprise  under  way  proved  to  be  tremendous.  A 
very  competent  woods  foreman,  named  Post,  was  in  charge 
of  the  actual  logging,  so  Welton  gave  his  undivided  attention 
to  the  mill  work.  All  day  the  huge  peeled  timbers  slid  and 
creaked  along  the  greased  slides,  dragged  mightily  by  a  strain- 
ing wire  cable  that  snapped  and  swung  dangerously.  When 
they  had  reached  the  solid  "bank"  that  slanted  down  toward 
the  mill,  the  obstreperous  "bull"  donkey  lowered  its  crest 
of  white  steam,  coughed,  and  was  still.  A  man  threw  over 
the  first  of  these  timbers  a  heavy  rope,  armed  with  a  hook, 
that  another  man  drove  home  with  a  blow  of  his  sledge. 
The  rope  tightened.  Over  rolled  the  log,  out  from  the 
greased  slide,  to  come,  finally,  to  rest  among  its  fellows  at  the 
entrance  to  the  mill. 

Thence  it  disappeared,  moved  always  by  steam-driven 
hooks,  for  these  great  logs  could  not  be  managed  by  hand 
implements.  The  sawyers,  at  their  levers,  controlled  the 
various  activities.  When  the  time  came  the  smooth,  deadly 
steel  ribbon  of  the  modern  bandsaws  hummed  hungrily  into 
the  great  pines;  the  automatic  roller  hurried  the  new-sawn 
boards  to  the  edgers;  little  cars  piled  high  with  them  shot  out 
from  the  cool  dimness  into  the  dazzling  sunlight;  men  armed 
with  heavy  canvas  or  leather  stacked  them  in  the  yards; 
and  then 

That  was  the  trouble;  and  then,  nothing! 

From  this  point  they  should  have  gone  farther.  Clamped 

205 


206          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

in  rectangular  bundles,  pushing  the  raging  white  water 
before  their  blunt  noses,  as  strange  craft  they  should  have 
been  flashing  at  regular  intervals  down  the  twisting,  turn- 
ing and  plunging  course  of  the  flume.  Arrived  safely  at 
the  bottom,  the  eight-  and  twelve-horse  teams  should  have 
taken  them  in  charge,  dragging  them  by  the  double  wagon 
load  to  the  waiting  yards  of  Marshall  &  Harding.  Nothing 
of  the  sort  was  happening.  Welton  did  not  dare  go  ahead 
with  the  water  for  fear  of  prejudicing  his  own  case.  The 
lumber  accumulated.  And,  as  the  mill's  capacity  was  great 
and  that  of  the  yards  small,  the  accumulation  soon  threat- 
ened to  become  embarrassing. 

Bob  acted  as  Welton's  lieutenant.  As  the  older  lumber- 
man was  at  first  occupied  in  testing  out  his  sawyers,  and 
otherwise  supervising  the  finished  product,  Bob  was  neces- 
sarily much  in  the  woods.  This  suited  him  perfectly. 
Every  morning  at  six  he  and  the  men  tramped  to  the  scene 
of  operations.  There  a  dozen  crews  scattered  to  as  many 
tasks.  Far  in  the  van  the  fellers  plied  their  implements. 
First  of  all  they  determined  which  way  a  tree  could  be  made 
to  fall,  estimating  long  and  carefully  on  the  weight  of  limbs, 
the  slant  of  the  trunk,  the  slope  of  ground,  all  the  elements 
having  to  do  with  the  centre  of  gravity.  This  having  been 
determined,  the  men  next  chopped  notches  of  the  right  depth 
for  the  insertion  of  short  boards  to  afford  footholds  high 
enough  to  enable  them  to  nick  the  tree  above  the  swell  of 
the  roots.  Standing  on  these  springy  and  uncertain  boards, 
they  began  their  real  work,  swinging  their  axes  alternately, 
with  untiring  patience  and  incomparable  accuracy.  Slowly, 
very  slowly,  the  "nick"  grew,  a  mouth  gaping  ever  wider 
in  the  brown  tree.  When  it  had  gaped  wide  enough  the 
men  hopped  down  from  their  springboards,  laid  aside  their 
axes,  and  betook  themselves  to  the  saw.  And  when,  at 
last,  the  wedges  inserted  in  the  saw-crack  started  the  mighty 
top,  the  men  calmly  withdrew  the  long  ribbon  of  steel  and 
stood  to  one  side. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  207 

After  the  dust  had  subsided,  and  the  last  reverberations  of 
that  mighty  crash  had  ceased  to  reecho  through  the  forest, 
the  fellers  stepped  forward  to  examine  their  work.  They 
took  all  things  into  consideration,  such  as  old  wind  shakes, 
new  decay,  twist  of  grain  and  location  of  the  limbs.  Then 
they  measured  off  the  prostrate  trunk  into  logs  of  twelve, 
fourteen,  sixteen,  eighteen,  or  even  twenty  feet,  according 
to  the  best  expediency.  The  division  points  between  logs 
they  notched  plainly,  and,  shouldering  their  axes  and  their 
sledge  and  their  long,  limber  saw,  pocketing  their  wedges 
and  their  bottle  of  coal  oil,  they  moved  on  to  where  the 
next  mighty  pine  had  through  all  the  centuries  been  awaiting 
their  coming. 

Now  arrived  on  the  scene  the  "swampers"  and  cross-cut 
men,  swarming  over  the  prostrate  tree  like  ants  over  a  piece 
of  sugar.  Some  of  them  cut  off  limbs;  others,  with  axes  and 
crowbars,  began  to  pry  away  great  slabs  of  bark;  still  others, 
with  much  precaution  of  shovel,  wedge  and  axe  against 
jamming,  commenced  the  slow  and  laborious  undertaking 
of  sawing  apart  the  logs. 

But  most  interesting  and  complicated  of  all  were  the 
further  processes  of  handling  the  great  logs  after  they  had 
been  peeled  and  sawed. 

The  ends  of  steel  cables  were  dragged  by  a  horse  to  the 
prostrate  tree,  where  they  were  made  fast  by  means  of  chains 
and  hooks.  Then  the  puffing  and  snorting  donkey  engine 
near  the  chute  tightened  the  cable.  The  log  stirred,  moved, 
plunged  its  great  blunt  nose  forward,  ploughing  up  the  soil. 
Small  trees  and  bushes  it  overrode.  But  sooner  or  later 
it  collided  head  on,  with  a  large  tree,  a  stump,  or  a  boulder. 
The  cable  strained.  Men  shouted  or  waved  their  arms  in 
signal.  The  donkey  engine  ceased  coughing.  Then  the 
horse  pulled  the  end  of  the  log  free.  Behind  it  was  left  a  deep 
trough,  a  half  cylinder  scooped  from  the  soil. 

At  the  chutes  the  logs  were  laid  end  to  end,  like  a  train 
of  cars.  A  more  powerful  cable,  endless,  running  to  the 


208          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

mill  and  back  again,  here  took  up  the  burden.  At  a  certain 
point  it  was  broken  by  two  great  hooks.  One  of  these,  the 
one  in  advance,  the  men  imbedded  in  the  rear  log  of  the 
train.  The  other  was  dragged  behind.  Away  from  the 
chutes  ten  feet  the  returning  cable  snapped  through  rude 
pulleys.  The  train  of  logs  moved  forward  slowly  and  stead- 
ily, sliding  on  the  greased  ways. 

On  the  knoll  the  donkey  engine  coughed  and  snorted  as  it 
heaved  the  mighty  timbers  from  the  woods.  The  drag 
of  the  logs  was  sometimes  heavier  than  the  engine,  so  it  had 
to  be  anchored  by  other  cables  to  strong  trees.  Between  these 
opposing  forces  —  the  inertia  of  the  rooted  and  the  fallen  — 
it  leaped  and  trembled.  At  its  throttle,  underneath  a  canopy 
knocked  together  of  rough  boaids,  the  engineer  stood, 
ready  from  one  instant  to  another  to  shut  off,  speed  up, 
or  slow  down,  according  to  the  demands  of  an  ever-changing 
exigence.  His  was  a  nervous  job,  and  he  earned  his 
repose. 

At  the  rear  of  the  boiler  a  boy  of  eighteen  toiled  with  an 
axe,  chopping  into  appropriate  lengths  the  dead  wood  brought 
in  for  fuel.  Next  year  it  would  be  possible  to  utilize  old  tops 
for  this  purpose,  but  now  they  were  too  green.  Another  boy,  in 
charge  of  a  solemn  mule,  tramped  ceaselessly  back  and  forth 
between  the  engine  and  a  spring  that  had  been  dug  out  down 
the  hill  in  a  ravine.  Before  the  end  of  that  summer  they  had 
worn  a  trail  so  deep  and  hard  and  smooth  that  many  seasons 
of  snow  failed  to  obliterate  it  even  from  the  soft  earth.  On 
either  side  the  mule  were  slung  sacks  of  heavy  canvas.  At 
the  spring  the  boy  filled  these  by  means  of  a  pail.  Returned 
to  the  engine,  he  replenished  the  boiler,  draining  the  sacks 
from  the  bottom,  cast  a  fleeting  glance  at  the  water  gauge 
of  the  donkey  engine,  and  hastened  back  to  the  spring.  He 
had  charge  of  three  engines;  and  was  busy. 

And  back  along  the  line  of  the  chutes  were  other  men  to 
fill  out  this  crew  of  many  activities  —  old  men  to  signal; 
young  men  to  stand  by  with  slush  brush,  axe,  or  bar  when 


The  men  calmly  withdrew  the  long  ribbon  of  steel  and 
stood  to  one  side 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          209 

things  did  not  go  well ;  axe-men  with  teams  laying  accurately 
new  chutes  into  new  country  yet  untouched. 

Bob  found  plenty  to  keep  him  busy.  Post,  the  woods 
foreman,  was  a  good  chute  man.  By  long  experience  he 
had  gained  practical  knowledge  of  the  problems  and  accidents 
of  this  kind  of  work.  To  get  the  logs  out  from  the  beds  in 
which  they  lay,  across  a  rugged  country,  and  into  the  mill 
was  an  engineering  proposition  of  some  moment.  It  is 
easy  to  get  into  difficulties  from  which  hours  of  work  will 
not  extricate. 

But  a  man  involved  closely  in  the  practical  management 
of  a  saw  log  may  conceivably  possess  scant  leisure  to  corre- 
late the  scattered  efforts  of  such  divergent  activities.  The 
cross  cutters  and  swampers  may  get  ahead  of  the  fellers 
and  have  to  wait  in  idleness  until  the  latter  have  knocked 
down  a  tree.  Or  the  donkey  may  fall  silent  from  lack  of  logs 
to  haul;  or  the  chute  crews  may  smoke  their  pipes  awaiting 
the  donkey.  Or,  worst  and  unpardonable  disgrace  of  all, 
the  mill  may  run  out  of  logs!  When  that  happens,  the  Old 
Fellow  is  usually  pretty  promptly  on  the  scene. 

Now  it  is  obvious  that  if  somewhere  on  the  works  ten  men 
are  always  waiting  —  even  though  the  same  ten  men  are 
not  thus  idle  over  once  a  week  —  the  employer  is  paying  foi 
ten  men  too  many.  Bob  found  his  best  activity  lay  in  seeing 
that  this  did  not  happen.  He  rode  everywhere  reviewing 
the  work;  and  he  kept  it  shaken  together.  Thus  he  made 
himself  very  useful,  he  gained  rapidly  a  working  knowledge 
of  this  new  kind  of  logging,  and,  incidentally,  he  found  his 
lines  fallen  in  very  pleasant  places  indeed. 

The  forest  never  lost  its  marvel  to  him,  but  after  he  had  to 
some  extent  become  accustomed  to  the  immense  trees,  he 
began  to  notice  the  smaller  affairs  of  the  woodland.  The 
dogwoods  and  azaleas  were  beginning  to  come  out;  the  waxy, 
crimson  snow  plants  were  up;  the  tiny  green  meadows  near 
the  heads  of  streams  were  enamelled  with  flowers;  hundreds 
of  species  of  birds  sang  and  flashed  and  scratched  and  crept 


210          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

and  soared.  The  smaller  animals  were  everywhere.  The 
sun  at  noon  disengaged  innumerable  and  subtle  tepid  odours 
of  pine  and  blossom. 

One  afternoon,  a  little  less  than  a  week  subsequent  to  the 
beginning  of  work,  Bob,  riding  home  through  the  woods 
by  a  detour  around  a  hill,  came  upon  sheep.  They  were 
scattered  all  over  the  hill,  cropping  busily  at  the  snowbush, 
moving  ever  slowly  forward.  A  constant  murmur  arose,  a 
murmur  of  a  silent,  quick,  minute  activity.  Occasionally  some 
mother  among  them  lifted  her  voice.  Bob  sat  his  horse  look- 
ing silently  on  the  shifting  grays.  In  ten  seconds  his  sight 
blurred;  he  experienced  a  slight  giddiness  as  though  the  sub- 
stantial ground  were  shifting  beneath  him  in  masses,  slowly, 
as  in  a  dream.  It  gave  him  a  curious  feeling  of  instability. 
By  an  effort  he  focused  his  eyes;  but  almost  immediately  he 
caught  himself  growing  fuzzy-minded  again,  exactly  as  though 
he  had  been  gazing  absently  for  a  considerable  period  at 
a  very  bright  light.  He  shook  himself. 

"I  don't  wonder  sheep  herders  go  dotty,"  said  he  aloud. 

He  looked  about  him,  and  for  the  first  time  became  aware 
of  a  tow-headed  youth  above  him  on  the  hill.  The  youth 
leaned  on  a  staff,  and  at  his  feet  crouched  two  long-haired 
dogs.  Bob  turned  his  horse  in  that  direction. 

When  he  had  approached,  he  saw  the  boy  to  be  about 
seventeen  years  old.  His  hair  was  very  light,  as  were  his 
eyebrows  and  eyelashes.  Only  a  decided  tinge  of  blue  in 
his  irises  saved  him  from  albinism.  His  lips  were  thick  and 
loose,  his  nose  flat,  his  expression  vacant.  In  contrast,  the 
two  dogs,  now  seated  on  their  haunches,  their  heads  to  one 
side,  their  ears  cocked  up,  their  eyes  bright,  looked  to  be  the 
more  intelligent  animals. 

"Good  evening,"  said  Bob. 

The  boy  merely  stared. 

"You  in  charge  of  the  sheep?"  inquired  the  young  man 
presently. 

The  boy  grunted. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          21 1 

"  Where  are  you  camped?"  persisted  Bob. 

No  answer. 

"Where's  your  boss?" 

A  faint  gleam  came  into  the  sheep-herder's  eyes.  He  raised 
his  arm  and  pointed  across  through  the  woods. 

Bob  reined  his  horse  in  the  direction  indicated.  As  he 
passed  the  last  of  the  flock  in  that  direction,  he  caught  sight 
of  another  herder  and  two  more  dogs.  This  seemed  to  be  a 
bearded  man  of  better  appearance  than  the  boy;  but  he  too 
leaned  motionless  on  his  long  staff;  he  too  gazed  unblinking 
on  the  nibbling,  restless,  changing,  imbecile  sheep. 

As  Bob  looked,  this  man  uttered  a  shrill,  long-drawn 
whistle.  Like  arrows  from  bows  the  two  dogs  darted  away, 
their  ears  flat,  their  bodies  held  low  to  the  ground.  The 
whistle  was  repeated  by  the  youth.  Immediately  his  dogs 
also  glided  forward.  The  noise  of  quick,  sharp  barkings 
was  heard.  At  once  the  slow,  shifting  movement  of  the 
masses  of  gray  ceased.  The  sound  of  mumiurous,  deep- 
toned  bells,  of  bleating,  of  the  movement  of  a  multitude  arose. 
The  flock  drew  to  a  common  centre;  it  flowed  slowly  forward. 
Here  and  there  the  dark  bodies  of  the  dogs  darted,  eager  and 
intelligently  busy.  The  two  herders  followed  after,  leaning 
on  their  long  staffs.  Over  the  hill  passed  the  flock.  Slowly 
the  sounds  of  them  merged  into  a  murmur.  It  died.  Only 
remained  the  fog  of  dust  drifting  through  the  trees,  caught 
up  by  every  passing  current  of  air,  light  and  impalpable  as 
powder. 

Bob  continued  on  his  way,  but  had  not  proceeded  more 
than  a  few  hundred  feet  before  he  was  overtaken  by 
Lejeune. 

"You're  the  man  I  was  looking  for,"  said  Bob.  "  I  see  you 
got  your  sheep  in  all  right.  Have  any  trouble?" 

The  sheepman's  teeth  flashed. 

"Not  'tall,"  he  replied.  "I  snik  in  ver'  easy  up  by  Beeg 
Rock." 

At  the  mill,  Bob,  while  luxuriously  splashing  the  ice-cold 


212          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

water  on  his  face  and  throat,  took  time  to  call  to  Welton  in 
the  next  room. 

"Saw  your  sheep  man,"  he  proffered.  "He  got  in  all 
right,  sheep  and  all." 

Welton  appeared  in  the  doorway,  mopping  his  round,  red 
face  with  a  towel. 

"Funny  we  haven't  heard  from  Plant,  then,"  said  he. 
"That  fat  man  must  be  keeping  track  of  Leejune's  where- 
abouts, or  he's  easier  than  I  thought  he  was." 


VIII 

THE  week  slipped  by.   Welton  seemed  to  be  completely 
immersed   in   the   business   of   cutting   lumber.     In 
due  time  Orde  senior  had  replied  by  wire,    giving 
assurance  that  he  would  see  to  the  matter  of  the  crossing 
permits. 

"So  that's  settled,"  quoth  Welton.  "You  bet-you  Jack 
Orde  will  make  the  red  tape  fly.  It'll  take  a  couple  of 
weeks,  I  suppose  —  time  for  the  mail  to  get  there  and  back. 
Meantime,  we'll  get  a  cut  ahead." 

But  at  the  end  of  ten  days  came  a  letter  from  the  congress- 
man. 

"Don't  know  just  what  is  the  hitch,"  wrote  Jack  Orde. 
"It  ought  to  be  the  simplest  matter  in  the  world,  and  so  I 
told  Russell  in  the  Land  Office  to-day.  They  seem  inclined 
to  fall  back  on  their  technicalities,  which  is  all  rot,  of  course. 
The  man  wants  to  be  annoying  for  some  reason,  but  I'll 
take  it  higher  at  once.  Have  an  appointment  with  the  Chief 
this  afternoon  .  .  . 

The  next  letter  came  by  the  following  mail. 

"This  seems  to  be  a  bad  mess.  I  can't  understand  it,  nor 
get  to  the  bottom  of  it.  On  the  face  of  the  showing  here 
we've  just  bulled  ahead  without  any  regard  whatever  for 
law  or  regulations.  Of  course,  I  showed  your  letter  stating 
your  agreement  and  talks  with  Plant,  but  the  department 
has  his  specific  denial  that  you  ever  approached  him.  They 
stand  pat  on  that,  and  while  they're  very  polite,  they  insist 
on  a  detailed  investigation.  I'm  going  to  see  the  Secretary 
this  morning." 

Close  on  the  heels  of  this  came  a  wire: 

213 


214          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Plant  submits  reports  of  alleged  sheep  trespass  com- 
mitted this  spring  by  your  orders.  Wire  denial." 

"My  Lord!"  said  Welton,  as  he  took  this.  "That's  why 
we  never  heard  from  that!  Bobby,  that  was  a  fool  move, 
certainly;  but  I  couldn't  turn  Leejune  down  after  I'd  agreed 
to  graze  him." 

"How  about  these  lumber  contracts?"  suggested  Bob. 

"We've  got  to  straighten  this  matter  out,"  said  Welton 
soberly. 

He  returned  a  long  telegram  to  Congressman  Orde  in 
Washington,  and  himself  interviewed  Plant.  He  made  no 
headway  whatever  with  the  fat  man,  who  refused  to  emerge 
beyond  the  hard  technicalities  of  the  situation.  Welton  made 
a  journey  to  White  Oaks,  where  he  interviewed  the  Super- 
intendent of  the  Forest  Reserves.  The  latter  proved  to  be 
a  well-meaning,  kindly,  white-whiskered  gentleman,  named 
Smith,  who  listened  sympathetically,  agreed  absolutely  with 
the  equities  of  the  situation,  promised  to  attend  to  the  mat- 
ter, and  expressed  himself  as  delighted  always  to  have  these 
things  brought  to  his  personal  attention.  On  reaching  the 
street,  however,  Welton  made  a  bee-line  for  the  bank  through 
which  he  did  most  of  his  business. 

"Mr.  Lee,"  he  asked  the  president,  "I  want  you  to  be 
frank  with  me.  I  am  having  certain  dealings  with  the 
Forest  Reserve,  and  I  want  to  know  how  much  I  can  depend 
on  this  man  Smith." 

Lee  crossed  his  white  hands  on  his  round  stomach,  and 
looked  at  Welton  over  his  eyeglasses." 

"In  what  way?"  he  asked. 

"I've  had  a  little  trouble  with  one  of  his  subordinates. 
I've  just  been  around  to  state  my  case  to  Smith,  and  he  agrees 
with  my  side  of  the  affair  and  promises  to  call  down  his  man. 
Can  I  rely  on  him  ?  Does  he  mean  what  he  says  ?  " 

"He  means  what  he  says,"  replied  the  bank  president, 
slowly,  "and  you  can  rely  on  him  —  until  his  subordinate 
gets  a  chance  to  talk  to  him." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          215 

"H'm,"  ruminated  Welton.  "Chinless,  eh?  I  wondered 
why  he  wore  long  white  whiskers." 

As  he  walked  up  the  street  toward  the  hotel,  where  he 
would  spend  the  night  before  undertaking  the  long  drive 
back,  somebody  hailed  him.  He  looked  around  to  see  a 
pair  of  beautiful  driving  horses,  shying  playfully  against 
each  other,  coming  to  a  stop  at  the  curb.  Their  harness 
was  the  lightest  that  could  be  devised  —  no  blinders,  no 
breeching,  slender,  well-oiled  straps;  the  rig  they  drew 
shone  and  twinkled  with  bright  varnish,  and  seemed  as 
delicate  and  light  as  thistledown.  On  the  narrow  seat 
sat  a  young  man  of  thirty,  covered  with  an  old-fashioned 
linen  duster,  wearing  the  wide,  gray  felt  hat  of  the  country. 
He  was  a  keen-faced,  brown  young  man,  with  snapping 
black  eyes. 

"Hullo,  Welton,"  said  he  as  he  brought  the  team  to  a 
stand;  "when  did  you  get  out  of  the  hills?" 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Harding?"  Welton  returned  his  greet- 
ing. "  Just  down  for  the  day  ?  " 

"How  are  things  going  up  your  way?" 

"First  rate,"  replied  Welton.  "We're  going  ahead  three 
bells  and  a  jingle.  Started  to  saw  last  week." 

"That's  good,"  said  Harding.  "I  haven't  heard  of  one 
of  your  teams  on  the  road,  and  I  began  to  wonder.  We've 
got  to  begin  deliveries  on  our  Los  Angeles  and  San  Pedro 
contracts  by  the  first  of  August,  and  we're  depending  on  you." 

"We'll  be  there,"  replied  Welton  with  a  laugh. 

The  young  man  laughed  back. 

"You'd  better  be,  if  you  don't  want  us  to  come  up  and 
take  your  scalp,"  said  he,  gathering  his  reins. 

"Guess  I  lay  in  some  hair  tonic  so's  to  have  a  good  one 
ready  for  you,"  returned  Welton,  as  Harding  nodded  his 
farewell. 


IX 

MATTERS  stood  thus  dependent  on  the  efforts  of 
Jack  Orde,  at  Washington,  when,  one  evening, 
Baker  rode  in  to  camp  and  dismounted  before  the 
low  verandah  of  the  sleeping  quarters.  Welton  and  Bob  sat, 
chair-tilted,  awaiting  the  supper  gong. 

"Thrice  hail,  noble  chiefs!"  cried  Baker,  cautiously 
stretching  out  first  one  sturdy  leg,  then  the  other.  "Against 
which  post  can  I  lean  my  trusty  charger?" 

Baker  was  garbed  to  suit  the  role.  His  boots  were  very 
thick  and  very  tall,  and  most  bristly  with  hobnails;  they 
laced  with  belt  laces  through  forty-four  calibre  eyelets,  and 
were  strapped  about  the  top  with  a  broad  piece  of  leather 
and  two  glittering  buckles.  Furthermore,  his  trousers  were 
of  khaki,  his  shirt  of  navy  blue,  his  belt  three  inches  broad, 
his  neckerchief  of  red,  and  his  hat  both  wide  and  high. 

In  response  to  enthusiastic  greetings,  he  struck  a 
pose. 

"How  do  you  like  it?"  he  inquired.  "Isn't  this  the 
candy  make-up  for  the  simple  life  —  surveyor,  hardy  pros- 
pector, mountain  climber,  sturdy  pedestrian?  Ain't  I  the 
real  young  cover  design  for  the  Out-of-door  number?" 

He  accepted  their  congratulations  with  a  lofty  wave. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  he;  "but  somebody  take  away 
this  horse  before  I  bite  him.  I'm  sore  on  that  horse.  Joke ! 
Snicker!" 

Bob  delivered  over  the  animal  to  the  stableman  who  was 
approaching. 

"Come  up  to  see  the  tall  buildings?"  he  quoted  Baker 
himself. 

91* 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          217 

<:Not  so,"  denied  that  young  man.  "My  errand 
is  philanthropic.  I'm  robin  redbreast.  Leaves  for 
yours." 

"Pass  that  again,"  urged  Bob;  "I  didn't  get  it." 

"  I  hear  you  people  have  locked  horns  with  Henry  Plant," 
said  Baker. 

"Well,  Plant's  a  little  on  the  peck,"  amended  Welton. 

"Leaves  for  yours,"  repeated  the  self -constituted  robin 
redbreast.  "Babes  in  the  Woods!" 

Beyond  this  he  would  vouchsafe  nothing  until  after  supper 
when,  cigars  lighted,  the  three  of  them  sprawled  before  the 
fireplace  in  quarters. 

"Now,"  he  began,  "you  fellows  are  up  against  it  good 
and  plenty.  You  can't  wish  your  lumber  out,  and  that's  the 
only  feasible  method  unless  you  get  a  permit.  Why  in  blazes 
did  you  make  this  break,  anyway?" 

"  What  break  ?  "  asked  Welton. 

Baker  looked  at  him  and  smiled  slowly, 

"You  don't  think  I  own  a  telephone  line  without  know- 
ing what  little  birdies  light  on  the  wires,  do  you?" 

"  Does  that  damn  operator  leak  ?  "  inquired  Welton  placidly 
but  with  a  narrowing  of  the  eyes. 

"Not  on  your  saccharine  existence.  If  he  did,  he'd 
be  out  among  the  scenery  in  two  jumps.  But  I'm  different. 
That's  my  business" 

"Mighty  poor  business,"  put  in  Bob  quietly. 

Baker  turned  full  toward  him. 

"Think  so?  You'll  never  get  any  cigars  in  the  guess- 
ing contest  unless  you  can  scare  up  better  ones  than  that. 
Let's  get  back  to  cases.  How  did  you  happen  to  make  this 
break,  anyway?" 

"Why,"  explained  Welton,  "it  was  simply  a  case  of  build 
a  road  and  a  flume  down  a  worthless  mountain-side.  Back 
with  us  a  man  builds  his  road  where  he  needs  it,  and  pays 
for  the  unavoidable  damage.  My  head  was  full  of  all 
sorts  of  details.  I  went  and  asked  Plant  about  it,  and  he  said 


218          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

all  right,  go  ahead.  I  supposed  that  settled  it,  and  that  he 
must  certainly  have  authority  on  his  own  job." 

Baker  nodded  several  times. 

"  Sure.     I  see  the  point.     Just  the  same,  he  has  you." 

"For  the  time  being,"  amended  Welton.  " Bob's  father, 
here,  is  congressman  from  our  district  in  Michigan,  and 
he'll  fix  the  matter." 

Baker  turned  his  face  to  the  ceiling,  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke 
toward  it,  and  whistled.  Then  he  looked  down  at  Welton. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  the  real  difficulty  ?  "  he  asked. 

"One  thousand  dollars,"  replied  Welton  promptly  —  "to 
hire  extra  fire-fighters  to  protect  my  timber,"  he  added 
ironically. 

"Well?" 

"Well!"  the  lumberman  slapped  his  knee.  "I  won't  be 
held  up  in  any  such  barefaced  fashion!" 

"And  your  congressman  will  pull  you  out.  Now  let  me 
drop  a  few  pearls  of  wisdom  in  the  form  of  conundrums. 
Why  does  a  fat  man  who  can't  ride  a  horse  hold  a  job  as 
Forest  Supervisor  in  a  mountain  country?" 

"He's  got  a  pull  somewhere,"  replied  Welton. 

"  Bright  boy!  Go  to  the  head.  Why  does  a  fat  man  who 
is  hated  by  every  mountain  man,  who  grafts  barefacedly, 
whose  men  are  either  loafers  or  discouraged,  hold  his  job?" 

"Same  answer." 

Baker  leaned  forward,  and  his  mocking  face  became  grave. 

"That  pull  comes  from  the  fact  that  old  Gay  is  his  first 
cousin,  and  that  he  seems  to  have  some  special  drag  with 
him." 

"The  Republican  chairman!"  cried  Welton. 

Baker  leaned  back. 

"About  how  much  chance  do  you  think  Mr.  Orde  has  of 
getting  a  hearing?  Especially  as  all  they  have  to  do  is  to 
stand  pat  on  the  record.  You'd  better  buy  your  extra  fire- 
fighters." 

"That  would  be  plain  bribery,"  put  in  Bob  from  the  bed. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          219 

"Fie,  fie!  Naughty!''  chided  Baker.  "Bribery!  to  pro- 
tect one's  timber  against  the  ravages  of  the  devouring  ele- 
ment! Now  look  here,"  he  resumed  his  sober  tone  and  more 
considered  speech;  "what  else  can  you  do?" 

"Fight  it,"  said  Bob. 

"Fight  what?  Prefer  charges  against  Plant?  That's 
been  done  a  dozen  times.  Such  things  never  get  beyond 
the  clerks.  There's  a  man  in  Washington  now  who  has 
direct  evidence  of  some  of  the  worst  frauds  and  biggest  land 
steals  ever  perpetrated  in  the  West.  He's  been  there  now 
four  months,  and  he  hasn't  even  succeeded  in  getting  a  hear- 
ing yet.  I  tried  bucking  Plant,  and  it  cost  me  first  and  last, 
in  time,  delay  and  money,  nearly  fifty  thousand  dollars.  I'm 
offering  you  that  expensive  experience  free,  gratis,  for 
nothing." 

"Make  a  plain  statement  of  the  facts  public,"  said  Bob. 
"Publish  them.  Arouse  public  sentiment." 

Baker  looked  cynical. 

"Such  attacks  are  ascribed  to  soreheads,"  said  he,  "and 
public  sentiment  isn't  interested.  The  average  citizen  won- 
ders what  all  the  fuss  is  about  and  why  you  don't  get  along 
with  the  officials,  anyway,  as  long  as  they  are  fairly  reason- 
able." He  turned  to  Welton:  "How  much  more  of  a  delay 
can  you  stand  without  closing  down?" 

"A  month." 

"How  soon  must  your  deliveries  begin ?" 

"July  first." 

"If  you  default  this  contract  you  can't  meet  your  notes." 

"What  notes?" 

"Don't  do  the  baby  blue-eyes.  You  can't  start  a  show 
like  this  without  borrowing.  Furthermore,  if  you  default 
this  contract,  you'll  never  get  another,  even  if  you  do  weather 
the  storm." 

"That's  true,"  said  Welton. 

"Furthermore,"  insisted  Baker,  "Marshall  and  Harding 
will  be  considerably  embarrassed  to  fill  their  contracts  down 


220          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

below;  and  the  building  operations  will  go  bump  for  lack 
of  material,  if  they  fail  to  make  good.  You  can't  stand 
or  fall  alone  in  this  kind  of  a  game." 

Welton  said  nothing,  but  puffed  strongly  on  his  cigar. 

"You're  still  doing  the  Sister  Anne  toward  Washington," 
said  Baker,  pleasantly.  "This  came  over  the  'phone.  I 
wired  Mr.  Orde  in  your  name,  asking  what  prospects  there 
were  for  a  speedy  settlement.  There's  what  he  says!"  He 
flipped  a  piece  of  scratch  paper  over  to  Welton. 

"Deadlock,"  read  the  latter  slowly.  "No  immediate 
prospect.  Will  hasten  matters  through  regular  channels. 
Signed,  Orde." 

"Mr.  Orde  is  familiar  with  the  whole  situation?"  asked 
Baker. 

"He  is." 

"Well,  there's  what  he  thinks  about  it  even  there.  You'd 
better  see  to  that  fire  protection.  It's  going  to  be  a  dry  year." 

"What's  all  your  interest  in  this,  anyway?"  asked  Bob. 

Baker  did  not  answer,  but  looked  inquiringly  toward 
Welton. 

"Our  interests  are  obviously  his,"  said  Welton.  "We're 
the  only  two  business  propositions  in  this  country.  And  if 
one  of  those  two  fail,  how's  the  other  to  scratch  along?" 

"Correct,  as  far  as  you  go,"  said  Baker,  who  had  listened 
attentively.  "Now,  I'm  no  tight  wad,  and  I'll  give  you 
another,  gratis.  It's  strictly  under  your  hats,  though.  If 
you  fellows  bust,  how  do  you  think  I  could  raise  money  to 
do  business  up  here  at  all  ?  It  would  hoodoo  the  country." 

Silence  fell  on  the  three,  while  the  fire  leaped  and  fell  and 
crackled.  Welton's  face  showed  still  a  trace  of  stubbornness. 
Suddenly  Baker  leaned  forward,  all  his  customary  fresh  spirits 
shining  in  his  face. 

"Don't  like  to  take  his  na'ty  medicine?"  said  he.  "Well, 
now,  I'll  tell  you.  I  know  Plant  mighty  well.  He  eats  out 
of  my  hand.  He  just  loves  me  as  a  father.  If  I  should  go 
to  him  and  say:  'Plant,  my  agile  sylph,  these  people  are  my 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          221 

friends.  Give  them  their  nice  little  permit  and  let  them  run 
away  and  play,'  why,  he'd  do  it  in  a  minute."  Baker  rolled 
his  eyes  drolly  at  Welton.  "Can  this  be  the  shadow  of 
doubt!  You  disbelieve  my  power?"  He  leaned  forward 
and  tapped  Welton's  knee.  His  voice  became  grave:  "I'll 
tell  you  what  I'll  do.  /'//  bet  you  a  thousand  dollars  I  can 
get  your  permit  jor  you!11 

The  two  men  looked  steadily  into  each  other's  eyes. 

At  last  Welton  drew  a  deep  sigh. 

"I'll  go  you,"  said  he. 

Baker  laughed  gleefully. 

"It's  a  cinch,"  said  he.  "Now,  honest,  don't  you  think 
so?  Do  you  give  up?  Will  you  give  me  a  check  now?" 

"I'll  give  you  a  check,  and  you  can  hunt  up  a  good  stake- 
holder," said  Welton.  "Shall  I  make  it  out  to  Plant?"  he 
inquired  sarcastically. 

"Make  the  check  out  to  me,"  said  Baker.  "I'll  just  let 
Plant  hold  the  stakes  and  decide  the  bet." 

He  rose. 

"Bring  out  the  fiery,  untamed  steed!"  he  cried.  "I 
must  away!" 

"Not  to-night?"  cried  Bob  in  astonishment. 

"Plant's  in  his  upper  camp,"  said  Baker,  "and  it's  only 
five  miles  by  trail.  There's  still  a  moon." 

"But  why  this  haste?" 

"Well,"  said  Baker,  spreading  his  sturdy  legs  apart  and 
surveying  first  one  and  then  the  other.  "To  tell  you  the 
truth,  our  old  friend  Plant  is  getting  hostile  about  these  prods 
from  Washington,  and  he  intimated  he'd  better  hear  from 
me  before  midnight  to-day." 

"You've  already  seen  him!"  cried  Bob. 

But  Baker  merely  grinned. 

As  he  stood  by  his  horse  preparing  to  mount,  he  remarked 
casually. 

"Just  picked  up  a  new  man  for  my  land  business  — 
name  Oldham." 


222          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Never  heard  of  him,"  said  Welton. 

"He  isn't  the  Lucky  Lands  Oldham,  is  he?"  asked  Bob. 

"Same  chicken,"  replied  Baker;  then,  as  Bob  laughed, 
"Think  he's  phoney?  Maybe  he'll  take  watching  —  and 
maybe  he  won't.  I'm  a  good  little  watcher.  But  I  do 
know  he's  got  'em  all  running  up  the  street  with  their  hats 
in  their  hands  when  it  comes  to  getting  results." 


BAKER  must  have  won  his  bet,  for  Welton  never  again 
saw  his  check  for  one  thousand  dollars,  until  it  was 
returned  to  him  cancelled.  Nor  did  Baker  himself 
return.  He  sent  instead  a  note  advising  some  one  to  go 
over  to  Plant's  headquarters.  Accordingly  Bob  saddled  his 
horse,  and  followed  the  messenger  back  to  the  Supervisor's 
summer  quarters. 

After  an  hour  and  a  half  of  pleasant  riding  through  the 
great  forest,  the  trail  dropped  into  a  wagon  road  which  soon 
led  them  to  a  fine,  open  meadow. 

"Where  does  the  road  go  to  in  the  other  direction?" 
Bob  asked  his  guide. 

"She  'jines  onto  your  road  up  the  mountain  just  by  the 
top  of  the  rise,"  replied  the  ranger. 

"How  did  you  get  up  here  before  we  built  that  road?" 
inquired  Bob. 

"Rode,"  answered  the  man  briefly. 

"Pretty  tough  on  Mr.  Plant,"  Bob  ventured. 

The  man  made  no  reply,  but  spat  carefully  into  the  tar- 
weed.  Bob  chuckled  to  himself  as  the  obvious  humour  of  the 
situation  came  to  him.  Plant  was  evidently  finding  the  dis- 
puted right  of  way  a  great  convenience. 

The  meadow  stretched  broad  and  fair  to  a  distant  fringe 
of  aspens.  On  either  side  lay  the  open  forest  of  spruce  and 
pines,  spacious,  without  undergrowth.  Among  the  trees 
gleamed  several  new  buildings  and  one  or  two  old  and 
weather-beaten  structures.  The  sounds  of  busy  saws  and 
hammers  rang  down  the  forest  aisles. 

Bob  found  the  Supervisor  sprawled  comfortably  in  a  rude, 

323 


224          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

homemade  chair  watching  the  activities  about  him.  To  his 
surprise,  he  found  there  also  Oldham,  the  real- estate  pro- 
moter from  Los  Angeles.  Two  men  were  nailing  shakes  on 
a  new  shed.  Two  more  were  busily  engaged  in  hewing  and 
sawing,  from  a  cross-section  of  a  huge  sugar  pine,  a  set  of 
three  steps.  Plant  seemed  to  be  greatly  interested  in  this, 
as  were  still  two  other  men  squatting  on  their  heels  close  by. 
All  wore  the  badges  of  the  Forest  Reserves.  Near  at  hand 
stood  two  more  men  holding  their  horses  by  the  bridle.  As 
Bob  ceased  his  interchange  with  Oldham,  he  overhead 
one  of  these  inquire: 

"All  right.     Now  what  do  you  want  us  to  do?" 

"Get  your  names  on  the  pay-roll  and  don't  bother  me," 
replied  Plant. 

Plant  caught  sight  of  Bob,  and,  to  that  young  man's  sur- 
prise, waved  him  a  jovial  hand. 

"'Bout  time  you  called  on  the  old  man!"  he  roared. 
"Tie  your  horse  to  the  ground  and  come  look  at  these 
steps.  I  bet  there  ain't  another  pair  like  'em  in  the 
mountains!" 

Somewhat  amused  at  this  cordiality,  Bob  dismounted. 

Plant  mentioned  names  by  way  of  introduction. 

"Baker  told  me  that  you  were  with  him,  but  not  that  you 
were  on  the  mountain,"  said  Bob.  "Better  come  over  and 
see  us." 

"I'll  try,  but  I'm  rushed  to  get  back,"  replied  Oldham 
formally. 

"How's  the  work  coming  on?"  asked  Plant.  "When 
you  going  to  start  fluming  'em  down?" 

"As  soon  as  we  can  get  our  permit,"  replied  Bob. 

Plant  chuckled. 

"Well,  you  did  get  in  a  hole  there,  didn't  you?  I  guess 
you  better  go  ahead.  It'll  take  all  summer  to  get  the  per- 
mit, and  you  don't  want  to  lose  a  season,  do  you?" 

Astonished  at  the  effrontery  of  the  man,  Bob  could  with 
difficulty  control  his  expression. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          225 

"We  expect  to  start  to-morrow  or  next  day,"  he  replied. 
"Just  as  soon  as  we  can  get  our  teams  organized.  Just 
scribble  me  a  temporary  permit,  will  you?"  He  offered 
a  fountain  pen  and  a  blank  leaf  of  his  notebook. 

Plant  hesitated,  but  finally  wrote  a  few  words. 

"You  won't  need  it,"  he  assured  Bob.  "I'll  pass  the 
word.  But  there  you  are." 

"Thanks,"  said  Bob,  folding  away  the  paper.  "You  seem 
to  be  comfortably  fixed  here." 

Plant  heaved  his  mighty  body  to  its  legs.  His  fat  face 
beamed  with  pride. 

"  My  boy,"  he  confided  to  Bob,  laying  a  pudgy  hand  on  the 
young  man's  shoulder,  "  this  is  the  best  camp  in  the  moun- 
tains —  without  any  exception." 

He  insisted  on  showing  Bob  around.  Of  course,  the 
young  fellow,  unaccustomed  as  yet  to  the  difficulties  of 
mountain  transportation,  could  not  quite  appreciate  to  the 
full  extent  the  value  in  forethought  and  labour  of  such  things 
as  glass  windows,  hanging  lamps,  enamelled  table  service, 
open  fireplaces,  and  ail  the  thousand  and  one  conveniences 
—  either  improvised  or  transported  mule-back  —  that  Plant 
displayed.  Nevertheless  he  found  the  place  most  com- 
fortable and  attractive. 

They  caught  a  glimpse  of  skirts  disappearing,  but  in  spite 
of  Plant's  roar  of  "Minnie!"  the  woman  failed  to  appear. 

"My  niece,"  he  explained. 

In  spite  of  himself,  Bob  found  that  he  was  beginning  to 
like  the  fat  man.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  Super- 
visor was  a  great  rascal;  neither  could  there  be  any  doubt 
but  that  his  personality  was  most  attractive.  He  had  a 
bull-like  way  of  roaring  out  his  jokes,  his  orders,  or  his  expos- 
tulations; a  smashing,  dry  humour;  and,  above  all,  an  invari- 
ably confident  and  optimistic  belief  that  everything  was 
going  well  and  according  to  every  one's  desires.  His  manner, 
too,  was  hearty,  his  handclasp  warm.  He  fairly  radiated 
good-fellowship  and  good  humour  as  he  rolled  about.  Bob's 


226          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

animosity  thawed  in  spite  of  his  half-amused  realization  of 
what  he  ought  to  feel. 

When  the  tour  of  inspection  had  brought  them  again  to  the 
grove  where  the  men  were  at  work,  they  found  two  new 
arrivals. 

These  were  evidently  brothers,  as  their  square-cut  features 
proclaimed.  They  squatted  side  by  side  on  their  heels.  Two 
good  horses  with  the  heavy  saddles  and  coiled  ropes  of  the 
stockmen  looked  patiently  over  their  shoulders.  A  mule, 
carrying  a  light  pack,  wandered  at  will  in  the  background. 
The  men  wore  straight-brimmed,  wide  felt  hats,  short 
jumpers,  and  overalls  of  blue  denim,  and  cowboy  boots 
armed  with  the  long,  blunt  spurs  of  the  craft.  Their  faces 
were  stubby  with  a  week's  growth,  but  their  blue  eyes  were 
wide  apart  and  clear. 

"Hullo,  Pollock,"  greeted  Plant,  as  he  dropped,  blowing, 
into  his  chair. 

The  men  nodded  briefly,  never  taking  their  steady  gaze 
from  Plant's  face.  After  a  due  and  deliberate  pause,  the 
elder  spoke. 

"They's  a  thousand  head  of  Wright's  cattle  been  drove 
in  on  our  ranges  this  year,"  said  he. 

"I  issued  Wright  permits  for  that  number,  Jim,"  replied 
Plant  blandly. 

"But  that's  plumb  crowdin'  of  our  cattle  ofl'n  the  range," 
protested  the  mountaineer. 

"No,  it  ain't,"  denied  Plant.  "That  range  will  keep  a 
thousand  cattle  more.  I've  had  complete  reports  on  it.  I 
know  what  I'm  doing." 

"It'll  keep  them,  all  right,"  spoke  up  the  younger,  "which 
is  saying  they  won't  die.  But  they'll  come  out  in  the  fall 
awful  pore." 

"  I'm  using  my  judgment  as  to  that,"  said  Plant. 

"Yore  judgment  is  pore,"  said  the  younger  Pollock,  bluntly. 
"You  got  to  be  a  cattleman  to  know  about  them  things." 

"Well,  I  know  Simeon  Wright  don't  put  in  cattle  where 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          227 

he's  going  to  lose  on  them,"  replied  Plant.  "If  he's  willing 
to  risk  it,  I'll  back  his  judgment." 

"  Wright's  a  crowder,"  the  older  Pollock  took  up  the 
argument  quietly.  "He  owns  fifty  thousand  head.  Me 
and  George,  here,  we  have  five  hunderd.  He  just  aims  to 
summer  his  cattle,  anyhow.  When  they  come  out  in  the 
fall,  he  will  fat  them  up  on  alfalfa  hay.  Where  is  George 
and  me  and  the  Mortons  and  the  Carrolls,  and  all  the  rest 
of  the  mountain  folks  going  to  get  alfalfa  hay?  If  our  cattle 
come  out  pore  in  the  fall,  they  ain't  no  good  to  us.  The 
range  is  overstocked  with  a  thousand  more  cattle  on  it. 
We're  pore  men,  and  Wright  he  owns  half  of  CaHforny. 
He's  got  a  million  acres  of  his  own  without  crowdin'  in  on  us." 

"This  is  the  public  domain,  for  all  the  public " 

began  Plant,  pompously,  but  George  Pollock,  the  younger, 
cut  in. 

"We've  run  this  range  afore  you  had  any  Forest  Reserves, 
afore  you  came  into  this  country,  Henry  Plant,  and  our 
fathers  and  our  grandfathers!  We've  built  up  our  busi- 
ness here,  and  we've  built  our  ranches  and  we've  made  our 
reg'lations  and  lived  up  to  'em!  We  ain't  going  to  be  run 
off  our  range  without  knowin'  why!" 

"  Just  because  you've  always  hogged  the  public  land  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  always  continue  to  do  so,"  said 
Plant  cheerfully. 

"Who's  the  public  ?  Simeon  Wright  ?  or  the  folks  up  and 
down  the  mountains,  who  lives  in  the  country?" 

"You've  got  the  same  show  as  Wright  or  anybody  else." 

"No,  we  ain't,"  interposed  Jim  Pollock,  "for  we're  playin* 
a  different  game." 

"Well,  what  is  it  you  want  me  to  do,  anyway  ?"  demanded 
Plant.  "The  man  has  his  permit.  You  can't  expect  me 
to  tell  him  to  get  to  hell  out  of  there  when  he  has  a  duly 
authorized  permit,  do  you?" 

The  Pollocks  looked  at  each  other. 

"No,"  hesitated  Jim,  at  last.     "But  we're  overstocked. 


228          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Don't  issue  no  such  blanket  permits  next  year.  The  range 
won't  carry  no  more  cattle  than  it  always  has." 

"Well,  I'll  have  it  investigated,"  promised  Plant.  "I'll 
send  out  a  grazing  man  to  look  into  the  matter." 

He  nodded  a  dismissal,  and  the  two  men,  rising  slowly  to 
their  feet,  prepared  to  mount.  They  looked  perplexed  and 
dissatisfied,  but  at  a  loss.  Plant  watched  them  sardonically. 
Finally  they  swung  into  the  saddle  with  the  cowman's  easy 
grace. 

"Well,  good  day,"  said  Jim  Pollock,  after  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation. 

"Good  day,"  returned  Plant  amusedly. 

They  rode  away  down  the  forest  aisles.  The  pack  mule 
fell  in  behind  them,  ringing  his  tiny,  sweet-toned  bell,  his 
long  ears  swinging  at  every  step. 

Plant  watched  them  out  of  sight. 

"Most  unreasonable  people  in  the  world,"  he  remarked 
to  Bob  and  Oldham.  "They  never  can  be  made  to  see 
sense.  Between  them  and  these  confounded  sheepmen  — 
I'd  like  to  get  rid  of  the  whole  bunch,  and  deal  only  with 
business  men.  Takes  too  much  palaver  to  run  this  outfit. 
If  they  gave  me  fifty  rangers,  I  couldn't  more'n  make  a 
start."  He  was  plainly  out  of  humour. 

"How  many  rangers  do  you  get?"  asked  Bob. 

"Twelve,"  snapped  Plant. 

Bob  saw  eight  of  the  twelve  in  sight,  either  idle  or  work- 
ing on  such  matters  as  the  steps  hewed  from  the  section  of 
pine  log.  He  said  nothing,  but  smiled  to  himself. 

Shortly  after  he  took  his  leave.  Plant,  his  good  humour 
entirely  recovered,  bellowed  after  him  a  dozen  jokes  and 
invitations. 

Down  the  road  a  quarter-mile,  just  before  the  trail  turned 
off  to  the  mill,  Bob  and  his  guide,  who  was  riding  down  the 
mountain,  passed  a  man  on  horseback.  He  rode  a  carved- 
Jeather  saddle,  without  tapaderos.*  A  rawhide  riata  hung 

*Stirrup  hoods. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          229 

in  its  loop  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  horn.  He  wore  a 
very  stiff-brimmed  hat  encircled  by  a  leather  strap  and  buckle, 
a  cotton  shirt,  and  belted  trousers  tucked  into  high-heeled 
boots  embroidered  with  varied  patterns.  He  was  a  square- 
built  but  very  wiry  man,  with  a  bold,  aggressive,  half-hostile 
glance,  and  rode  very  straight  and  easy  after  the  manner  of 
the  plains  cowboy.  A  pair  of  straight-shanked  spurs  jingled 
at  his  heels,  and  he  wore  a  revolver. 

"Shelby,"  explained  the  guide,  after  this  man  had  passed. 
"  Simeon  Wright's  foreman  with  these  cattle  you  been  hearing 
about.  He  ain't  never  far  off  when  there's  something  doing. 
Guess  he's  come  to  see  about  how's  his  fences.' ' 


XI 

BOB  rode  jubilantly  into  camp.  The  expedition  had 
taken  him  all  the  afternoon,  and  it  was  dropping 
dusk  when  he  had  reached  the  mill. 

"We  can  get  busy,"  he  cried,  waving  the  permit  at  Welton. 
"Here  it  is!" 

Welton  smiled.  "I  knew  that,  my  boy,"  he  replied,  "and 
we're  already  busy  to  the  extent  of  being  ready  to  turn  her 
loose  to-morrow  morning.  I've  sent  down  a  yard  crew  to 
the  lower  end  of  the  flume;  and  I've  started  Max  to  rustling 
out  the  teams  by  'phone." 

Next  day  the  water  was  turned  into  the  flume.  Fifty  men 
stood  by.  Rapidly  the  skilled  workmen  applied  the  clamps 
and  binders  that  made  of  the  boards  a  compact  bundle  to  be 
given  to  the  rushing  current.  Then  they  thrust  it  forward 
to  the  drag  of  the  water.  It  gathered  headway,  rubbing 
gently  against  the  flume,  first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other. 
Its  weight  began  to  tell;  it  gathered  momentum;  it  pushed 
ahead  of  its  blunt  nose  a  foaming  white  wave;  it  shot  out  of 
sight  grandly,  careening  from  side  to  side.  The  men  cheered. 

"Well,  we're  off!"  said  Bob  cheerfully. 

"Yes,  we're  off,  thank  God!"  replied  Welton. 

From  that  moment  the  affairs  of  the  new  enterprise  went  as 
well  as  could  be  expected.  Of  course,  there  were  many 
rough  edges  to  be  smoothed  off,  but  as  the  season  progressed 
the  community  shaped  itself.  It  was  indeed  a  community, 
of  many  and  diverse  activities,  much  more  complicated,  Bob 
soon  discovered,  than  any  of  the  old  Michigan  logging  camps. 
A  great  many  of  the  men  brought  their  families.  These 
occupied  separate  shanties,  of  course.  The  presence  of  the 

230 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          231 

women  and  children  took  away  much  of  that  feeling  of 
impermanence  associated  with  most  pioneer  activities.  As 
without  exception  these  women  kept  house,  the  company 
"van"  speedily  expanded  to  a  company  store.  Where 
the  "  van  "  kept  merely  rough  clothing,  tobacco  and  patent 
medicines,  the  store  soon  answered  demands  for  all  sorts  of 
household  luxuries  and  necessities.  Provisions,  of  course, 
were  always  in  request.  These  one  of  the  company's  book- 
keepers doled  out. 

"Mr.  Poole,"  the  purchaser  would  often  say  to  this  man, 
"next  time  a  wagon  comes  up  from  Sycamore  Flats  would 
you  just  as  soon  have  them  bring  me  up  a  few  things?  I 
want  a  washboard,  and  some  shoes  for  Jimmy,  and  a  double 
boiler;  and  there  ought  to  be  an  express  package  for  me  from 
my  sister." 

"Sure!    I'll  see  to  it,"  said  Poole. 

This  meant  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  first  and  last,  what  with 
the  charges  and  all.  Finally,  Welton  tired  of  it. 

"We've  got  to  keep  a  store,"  he  told  Bob  finally. 

With  characteristic  despatch  he  put  the  carpenters  to  work, 
and  sent  for  lists  of  all  that  had  been  ordered  from  Sycamore 
Flats.  A  study  of  these,  followed  by  a  trip  to  White  Oaks, 
resulted  in  the  equipment  of  a  store  under  charge  of  a  man 
experienced  in  that  sort  of  thing.  As  time  went  on,  and  the 
needs  of  such  a  community  made  themselves  more  evident,  the 
store  grew  in  importance.  Its  shelves  accumulated  dress 
goods,  dry  goods,  clothing,  hardware;  its  rafters  dangled  with 
tinware  and  kettles,  with  rope,  harness,  webbing;  its  bins  over- 
flowed with  various  food-stuffs  unknown  to  the  purveyor  of  a 
lumber  camp's  commissary,  but  in  demand  by  the  housewife; 
its  one  glass  case  shone  temptingly  with  fancy  stationery, 
dollar  watches,  and  even  cheap  jewelry.  There  was  candy 
for  the  children,  gum  for  the  bashful  maiden,  soda  pop  for 
the  frivolous  young.  In  short,  there  sprang  to  being  in  an 
astonishingly  brief  space  of  time  a  very  creditable  specimen 
of  the  country  store.  It  was  a  business  in  itself,  requiring 


232          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

all  the  services  of  a  competent  man  for  the  buying,  the  selling, 
and  the  transportation.  At  the  end  of  the  year  it  showed  a 
fair  return  on  the  investment. 

"Though  we'd  have  to  have  it  even  at  a  dead  loss,"  Welton 
pointed  out,  "to  hold  our  community  together.  All  we  need 
is  a  few  tufts  of  chin  whiskers  and  some  politics  to  be  full- 
fledged  gosh-darn  mossbacks." 

The  storekeeper,  a  very  deliberate  person,  Merker  by  name, 
was  much  given  to  contemplation  and  pondering.  He  pos- 
sessed a  German  pipe  of  porcelain,  which  he  smoked  when 
not  actively  pestered  by  customers.  At  such  times  he  leaned 
his  elbows  on  the  counter,  curved  one  hand  about  the  porce- 
lain bowl  of  his  pipe,  lost  the  other  in  the  depths  of  his  great 
seal-brown  beard,  and  fell  into  staring  reveries.  When  a 
customer  entered  he  came  back  —  with  due  deliberation  — 
from  about  one  thousand  miles.  He  refused  to  accept  more 
than  one  statement  at  a  time,  to  consider  more  than  one  per- 
son at  a  time,  or  to  do  more  than  one  thing  at  a  time. 

"  Gim'me  five  pounds  of  beans,  two  of  sugar,  and  half  a 
pound  of  tea!"  demanded  Mrs.  Max. 

Merker  deliberately  laid  aside  his  pipe,  deliberately  moved 
down  the  aisle  behind  his  counter,  deliberately  filled  his  scoop, 
deliberately  manipulated  the  scales.  After  the  package 
was  duly  and  neatly  encased,  labelled  and  deposited  accu- 
rately in  front  of  Mrs.  Max,  Merker  looked  her  in  the  eye. 

"Five  pounds  of  beans,"  said  he,  and  paused  for  the  next 
item. 

The  moment  the  woman  had  departed,  Merker  resumed 
his  pipe  and  his  wide-eyed  vacancy. 

Welton  was  immensely  amused  and  tickled. 

"Seems  to  me  he  might  keep  a  little  busier,"  grumbled 
Bob. 

"I  thought  so,  too,  at  first,"  replied  the  older  man,  "but 
his  store  is  always  neat,  and  he  keeps  up  his  stock.  Further- 
more, he  never  makes  a  mistake  —  there's  no  chance  for  it 
on  his  one-thing-at-a-time  system." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME         233 

But  it  soon  became  evident  that  Merker's  reveries  did  not 
mean  vacancy  of  mind.  At  such  times  the  Placid  One  fig- 
ured on  his  stock.  When  he  put  in  a  list  of  goods  required, 
there  was  little  guess-work  as  to  the  quantities  needed. 
Furthermore,  he  had  other  schemes.  One  evening  he  pre- 
sented himself  to  Welton  with  a  proposition.  His  waving 
brown  hair  was  slicked  back  from  his  square,  placid  brow, 
his  wide,  cowlike  eyes  shone  with  the  glow  of  the  common  or 
domestic  fire,  his  brown  beard  was  neat,  and  his  holiday 
clothes  were  clean.  At  Welton's  invitation  he  sat,  but  bolt 
upright  at  the  edge  of  a  chair. 

"After  due  investigation  and  deliberation,"  he  stated, 
"I  have  come  to  the  independent  conclusion  that  we  are 
overlooking  a  means  of  revenue." 

"As  what?"  asked  Welton,  amused  by  the  man's  deadly 
seriousness. 

"Hogs,"  stated  Merker. 

He  went  on  deliberately  to  explain  the  waste  in  camp  gar- 
bage, the  price  of  young  pigs,  the  cost  of  their  transportation, 
the  average  selling  price  of  pork,  the  rate  of  weight  increase 
per  month,  and  the  number  possible  to  maintain.  He  fur- 
ther showed  that,  turned  at  large,  they  would  require  no 
care.  Amused  still  at  the  man's  earnestness,  Welton  tried 
to  trip  him  up  with  questions.  Merker  had  foreseen  every 
contingency. 

"  I'll  turn  it  over  to  you.  Draw  the  necessary  money  from 
the  store  account,"  Welton  told  him  finally. 

Merker  bowed  solemnly  and  went  out.  In  two  weeks 
pigs  appeared.  They  became  a  feature  of  the  landscape, 
and  those  who  experimented  with  gardens  indulged  in  pro- 
fanity, clubs  and  hog-proof  fences.  Returning  home  after 
dark,  the  wayfarer  was  apt  to  be  startled  to  the  edge  of  flight 
by  the  grunting  upheaval  of  what  had  seemed  a  black  shadow 
under  the  moon.  Bob  in  especial  acquired  concentrated 
practice  in  horsemanship  for  the  simple  reason  that  his 
animal  refused  to  dismiss  his  first  hypothesis  of  bears. 


234          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Nevertheless,  at  the  end  of  the  season  Merker  gravely 
presented  a  duly  made  out  balance  to  the  credit  of  hogs. 

Encouraged  by  the  success  of  this  venture,  he  next 
attempted  chickens.  But  even  his  vacant-eyed  figuring 
had  neglected  to  take  into  consideration  the  abundance  of 
such  predatory  beasts  and  birds  as  wildcats,  coyotes,  rac- 
coons, owls  and  the  swift  hawks  of  the  falcon  family. 

"  I  had  thought,"  he  reported  to  the  secretly  amused  Welton, 
"  that  even  in  feeding  the  finer  sorts  of  garbage  to  hogs  there 
might  be  an  economic  waste;  hogs  fatten  well  enough  on  the 
coarser  grades,  and  chickens  will  eat  the  finer.  In  that  I  fell 
into  error.  The  percentage  of  loss  from  noxious  varmints 
more  than  equals  the  difference  in  the  cost  of  eggs.  I  fur- 
ther find  that  the  margin  of  profits  on  chickens  is  not  large 
enough  to  warrant  expenditures  for  traps,  dogs  and  men  suf- 
ficient for  protection." 

"And  how  does  the  enterprise  stand  now?"  asked  Welton. 

"We  are  behind." 

"H'm.  And  what  would  you  advise  by  way  of  retrench- 
ment?" 

"I  should  advise  closing  out  the  business  by  killing  the 
fowl,"  was  Merker's  opinion.  "Crediting  the  account  with 
the  value  of  the  chickens  as  food  would  bring  us  out  with  a 
loss  of  approximately  ten  dollars." 

"Fried  chicken  is  hardly  applicable  as  lumber  camp 
provender,"  pointed  out  Welton.  "So  it's  scarcely  a  legiti- 
mate asset." 

"I  had  considered  that  point,"  replied  Merker,  "and  in 
my  calculations  I  had  valued  the  chickens  at  the  price  of 
beef." 

Welton  gave  it  up. 

Another  enterprise  for  which  Merker  was  responsible  was 
the  utilization  of  the  slabs  and  edgings  in  the  construction  of 
fruit  trays  and  boxes.  When  he  approached  WTelton  on  the 
subject,  the  lumberman  was  little  inclined  to  be  receptive 
to  the  idea. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          235 

"That's  all  very  well,  Merker,"  said  he,  impatiently;  "I 
don't  doubt  it's  just  as  you  say,  and  there's  a  lot  of  good 
tray  and  box  material  going  to  waste.  So,  too,  I  don't  doubt 
there's  lots  of  material  for  toothpicks  and  matches  and 
wooden  soldiers  and  shingles  and  all  sorts  of  things  in  our 
slashings.  The  only  trouble  is  that  I'm  trying  to  run  a  big 
lumber  company.  I  haven't  time  for  all  that  sort  of  little 
monkey  business.  There's  too  much  detail  involved  in  it." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Merker,  and  withdrew. 

About  two  weeks  later,  however,  he  reappeared,  towing 
after  him  an  elderly,  bearded  farmer  and  a  bashful-looking, 
hulking  youth. 

"This  is  Mr.  Lee,"  said  Merker,  "and  he  wants  to  make 
arrangements  with  you  to  set  up  a  little  cleat  and  box-stuff 
mill,  and  use  from  your  dump." 

Mr.  Lee,  it  turned  out,  had  been  sent  up  by  an  informal 
association  of  the  fruit  growers  of  the  valley.  Said  informal 
association  had  been  formed  by  Merker  through  the  mails. 
The  store-keeper  had  submitted  such  convincing  figures 
that  Lee  had  been  dispatched  to  see  about  it.  It  looked 
cheaper  in  the  long  run  to  send  up  a  spare  harvesting  engine, 
to  buy  a  saw,  and  to  cut  up  box  and  tray  stuff  than  to  pur- 
chase these  necessities  from  the  regular  dealers.  Would  Mr. 
Welton  negotiate?  Mr.  Welton  did.  Before  long  the  mill- 
men  were  regaled  by  the  sight  of  a  snorting  little  upright 
engine  connected  by  a  flapping,  sagging  belt  to  a  small  cir- 
cular saw.  Two  men  and  two  boys  worked  like  beavers. 
The  racket  and  confusion,  shouts,  profanity  and  general 
awkwardness  were  something  tremendous.  Nevertheless, 
the  pile  of  stock  grew,  and  every  once  in  a  while  six-horse 
farm  wagons  from  the  valley  would  climb  the  mountain  to 
take  away  box  material  enough  to  pack  the  fruit  of  a  whole 
district.  To  Merker  this  was  evidently  a  profound  satis- 
faction. Often  he  would  vary  his  usual  between-customer 
reverie  by  walking  out  on  his  shaded  verandah,  where  he 
would  lean  against  an  upright,  nursing  the  bowl  of  his  pipe, 


236          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

gazing  across  the  sawdust  to  the  diminutive  and  rackety 
box-plant  in  the  distance. 

Welton,  passing  one  day,  laughed  at  him. 

"How  about  your  economic  waste,  Merker?"  he  called. 
"Two  good  men  could  turn  out  three  times  the  stuff  all  that 
gang  does  in  about  half  the  time." 

"There  are  no  two  good  men  for  that  job,"  replied  Merker 
unmoved.  His  large,  cowlike  eyes  roved  across  the  yards. 
"Men  grow  in  a  generation;  trees  grow  in  ten,"  he  resumed 
with  unexpected  directness.  "I  have  calculated  that  of  a 
great  tree  but  40  per  cent,  is  used.  All  the  rest  is  economic 
waste  —  slabs,  edging,  tops,  stumps,  sawdust."  He  sighed. 
"I  couldn't  get  anybody  to  consider  your  toothpick  and 
matches  idea,  nor  the  wooden  soldiers,  nor  even  the  shingles," 
he  ended. 

Welton  stared. 

"You  didn't  quote  me  in  the  matter,  did  you?"  he  asked 
at  length. 

"  I  did  not  take  the  matter  as  official.  Would  I  have  done 
better  to  have  done  so?" 

"Lord,  no!"  cried  Welton  fervently. 

"The  sawdust  ought  to  make  something,"  continued 
Merker.  "But  I  am  unable  to  discover  a  practical  use  for 
it."  He  indicated  the  great  yellow  mound  that  each  day 
increased. 

"Yes,  I  got  to  get  a  burner  for  it,"  said  Welton,  "  it'll  soon 
swamp  us." 

"There  might  be  power  in  it,"  mused  Merker.  "A  big 
furnace,  now " 

"For  heaven's  sake,  man,  what  for?"  demanded  Welton. 

"I  don't  know  yet,"  answered  the  store-keeper. 

Merker  amused  and  interested  Weiton,  and  in  addition 
proved  to  be  a  valuable  man  for  just  his  position.  It  tickled 
the  burly  lumberman,  too,  to  stop  for  a  moment  in  his  rounds 
for  the  purpose  of  discussing  with  mock  gravity  any  one  of 
Merker's  thousand  ideas  on  economic  waste.  Welton  dis- 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          237 

covered  a  huge  entertainment  in  this.  One  day,  however, 
he  found  Merker  in  earnest  discussion  with  a  mountain  man, 
whom  the  store-keeper  introduced  as  Ross  Fletcher.  Welton 
did  not  pay  very  much  attention  to  this  man  and  was  about 
to  pass  on  when  his  eye  caught  the  gleam  of  a  Forest  Ranger's 
badge.  Then  he  stopped  short. 

"Merker!"  he  called  sharply. 

The  store-keeper  looked  up. 

"See  here  a  minute.  Now,"  said  Welton,  as  he  drew  the 
other  aside,  "I  want  one  thing  distinctly  understood.  This 
Government  gang  don't  go  here.  This  is  my  property,  and 
I  won't  have  them  loafing  around.  That's  all  there  is  to  it. 
Now  understand  me;  I  mean  business.  If  those  fellows 
come  in  here,  they  must  buy  what  they  want  and  get  out. 
They're  a  lazy,  loafing,  grafting  crew,  and  I  won't  have  them." 

Welton  spoke  earnestly  and  in  a  low  tone,  and  his  face 
was  red.  Bob,  passing,  drew  rein  in  astonishment.  Never, 
in  his  long  experience  with  Welton,  had  he  seen  the  older 
man  plainly  out  of  temper.  Welton' s  usual  habit  in  aggra- 
vating and  contrary  circumstances  was  to  show  a  surface,  at 
least,  of  the  most  leisurely  good  nature.  So  unprecedented 
was  the  present  condition  that  Bob,  after  hesitating  a  moment, 
dismounted  and  approached. 

Merker  was  staring  at  his  chief  with  wide  and  astonished 
eyes,  and  plucking  nervously  at  his  brown  beard. 

"Why,  that  is  Ross  Fletcher,"  he  gasped.  "We  were  just 
talking  about  the  economic  waste  in  the  forests.  He  is  a 
good  man.  He  isn't  lazy.  He " 

" Economic  waste  hell! "  exploded  Welton.  "I  won't  have 
that  crew  around  here,  and  I  won't  have  my  employees  con- 
fabbing with  them.  I  don't  care  what  you  tell  them,  or  how 
you  fix  it,  but  you  keep  them  out  of  here.  Understand?  I 
hate  the  sight  of  one  of  those  fellows  worse  than  a  poison- 
snake!" 

Merker  glanced  from  Welton  to  the  ranger  and  back  again 
perplexed. 


238          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"But  —  but "   he   stammered.     "I've   known   Ross 

Fletcher  a  long  time.     What  can  I  say " 

Welt  on  cut  in  on  him  with  contempt. 

"Well,  you'd  better  say  something,  unless  you  want  me  to 
throw  him  off  the  place.  This  is  no  corner  saloon  for 
loafers." 

"I'll  fix  it,"  offered  Bob,  and  without  waiting  for  a  reply, 
he  walked  over  to  where  the  mountaineer  was  leaning  against 
the  counter. 

"You're  a  Forest  Ranger,  I  see,"  said  Bob. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  man,  straightening  from  his  lounging 
position. 

"Well,  from  our  bitter  experiences  as  to  the  activities  of  a 
Forest  Ranger  we  conclude  that  you  must  be  very  busy  people 
— too  busy  to  waste  time  on  us." 

The  man's  face  changed,  but  he  evidently  had  not  quite 
arrived  at  the  drift  of  this. 

"I  think  you  know  what  I  mean,"  said  Bob. 

A  slow  flush  overspread  the  ranger's  face.  He  looked  the 
young  man  up  and  down  deliberately.  Bob  moved  the  frac- 
tion of  an  inch  nearer. 

"  Meaning  I'm  not  welcome  here?"  he  demanded. 

"This  place  is  for  the  transaction  of  business  only.  Can 
I  have  Merker  get  you  anything  ?  " 

Fletcher  shot  a  glance  half  of  bewilderment,  half  of  anger, 
in  the  direction  of  the  store-keeper.  Then  he  nodded,  not 
without  a  certain  dignity,  at  Bob. 

"Thanks,  no,"  he  said,  and  walked  out,  his  spurs  jingling. 

"I  guess  he  won't  bother  us  again,"  said  Bob,  returning 
to  Welton. 

The  latter  laughed,  a  trifle  ashamed  of  his  anger. 

"Those  fellows  give  me  the  creeps,"  he  said,  "like  cats 
do  some  people.  Mossbacks  don't  know  no  better,  but  a 
Government  grafter  is  a  little  more  useless  than  a  nigger  on 
a  sawlog." 

He  went  out.     Bob  turned  to  Merker. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME         239 

"  Sorry  for  the  row,"  he  said  briefly,  for  he  liked  the  gentle, 
slow  man.  "But  they're  a  bad  lot.  We've  got  to  keep  that 
crew  at  arm's  length  for  our  own  protection." 

"Ross  Fletcher  is  not  that  kind,"  protested  Merker.  "I've 
known  him  for  years." 

"Well,  he's  got  a  nerve  to  come  in  here.  I've  seen  him 
and  his  kind  holding  down  too  good  a  job  next  old  Austin's 
bar." 

"Not  Ross,"  protested  Merker  again.  "He's  a  worker. 
He's  just  back  now  from  the  high  mountains.  Mr.  Orde,  if 
you've  got  a  minute,  sit  down.  I  want  to  tell  you  about 
Ross." 

Willing  to  do  what  he  could  to  soften  Merker' s  natural 
feeling,  Bob  swung  himself  to  the  counter,  and  lit  his  pipe. 

"Ross  Fletcher  is  a  ranger  because  he  loves  it  and  believes 
in  it,"  said  Merker  earnestly.  "He  knows  things  are  going 
rotten  now,  but  he  hopes  that  by  and  by  they'll  go  better. 
His  district  is  in  good  shape.  Why,  let  me  tell  you :  last 
spring  Ross  was  fighting  fire  all  alone,  and  he  went  out  for 
help  and  they  docked  him  a  day  for  being  off  the  reserve  1" 

"You  don't  say,"  commented  Bob. 

"You  don't  believe  it.  Well,  it's  so.  And  they  sent  him 
in  after  sheep  in  the  high  mountains  earl}',  when  the  feed 
was  froze,  and  wouldn't  allow  him  pay  for  three  sacks  of 
barley  for  his  animals.  And  Ross  gets  sixty  dollars  a  month, 
and  he  spends  about  half  of  that  for  trail  tools  and  fire  tools 
that  they  won't  give  him.  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?" 

"Merker,"  said  Bob  kindly,  "I  think  your  man  is  either  a 
damn  liar  or  a  damn  fool.  Why  does  he  say  he  does  all  this  ?  " 

"He  likes  the  mountains.  He  —  well,  he  just  believes 
in  it." 

"I  see.  Are  there  any  more  of  these  altruists?  or  is  he  the 
only  bird  of  the  species?" 

Merker  caught  the  irony  of  Bob's  tone. 

"They  don't  amount  to  much,  in  general,"  he  admitted. 
"'  But  there's  a  few  —  they  keep  the  torch  lit." 


240          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"I  supposed  their  job  was  more  in  the  line  of  putting  it 
out,"  observed  Bob;  then,  catching  Merker's  look  of  slow 
bewilderment,  he  added:  "So  there  are  several." 

"Yes.  There's  good  men  among  'em.  There's  Ross, 
and  Charley  Morton,  and  Tom  Carroll,  and,  of  course,  old 
California  John." 

Bob's  amused  smile  died  slowly.  Before  his  mental  vis- 
ion rose  the  picture  of  the  old  mountaineer,  with  his  faded, 
ragged  clothes,  his  beautiful  outfit,  his  lean,  kindly  face,  his 
steady  blue  eyes,  guarding  an  empty  trail  for  the  sake  of  an 
empty  duty.  That  man  was  no  fool;  and  Bob  knew  it.  The 
young  fellow  slid  from  the  counter  to  the  floor. 

"I'm  glad  you  believe  in  your  friend,  Merker,"  said  he 
"and  I  don't  doubt  he's  a  fine  fellow;  but  we  can't  have 
rangers,  good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  hanging  around  here. 
I  hope  you  understand  that?" 

Merker  nodded,  his  wide  eyes  growing  dreamy. 

"It's  an  economic  waste,"  he  sighed,  "all  this  cross-pur- 
poses. Here's  you  a  good  man,  and  Ross  a  good  man,  and 
you  cannot  work  in  harmony  because  of  little  things.  The 
Government  and  the  private  owner  should  conduct  business 
together  for  the  best  utilization  of  all  raw  material " 

"Merker,"  br  Ae  in  Bob,  with  a  kindly  twinkle,  "you're 
a  Utopian." 

"Mr.  Orde,"  returned  Merker  with  entire  respect,  "you're 
a  lumberman." 

With  this  interchange  of  epithets  they  parted. 


XII 

THE  establishment  of  the  store  attracted  a  great  many 
campers.  California  is  the  campers'  state.  Imme- 
diately after  the  close  of  the  rainy  season  they  set 
forth.  The  wayfarer  along  any  of  the  country  roads  will 
everywhere  meet  them,  either  plodding  leisurely  through  the 
charming  landscape,  or  cheerfully  gipsying  it  by  the  road- 
side. Some  of  the  outfits  are  very  elaborate,  veritable  houses 
on  wheels,  with  doors  and  windows,  stove  pipes,  steps  that 
let  down,  unfolding  devices  so  ingenious  that  when  they  are 
all  deployed  the  happy  owners  are  surrounded  by  complete 
convenience  and  luxury.  The  man  drives  his  ark  from 
beneath  a  canopy;  the  women  and  children  occupy  com- 
fortably the  living  room  of  the  house  —  whose  sides,  per- 
chance, fold  outward  like  wings  when  the  breeze  is  cool  and 
the  dust  not  too  thick.  Carlo  frisks  joyously  ahead  and 
astern.  Other  parties  start  out  quite  as  cheerfully  with  the 
delivery  wagon,  or  the  buckboard,  or  even  —  at  a  pinch  — 
with  the  top  buggy.  For  all  alike  the  country-side  is  golden, 
the  sun  warm,  the  sky  blue,  the  birds  joyous,  and  the  spring 
young  in  the  land.  The  climate  is  positively  guaranteed. 
It  will  not  rain;  it  will  shine;  the  stars  will  watch.  Feed 
for  the  horses  everywhere  borders  the  roads.  One  can  idle 
along  the  highways  and  the  byways  and  the  noways-at-all, 
utterly  carefree,  surrounded  by  wild  and  beautiful  scenery. 
No  wonder  half  the  state  turns  nomadic  in  the  spring. 

And  then,  as  summer  lays  its  heats  —  blessed  by  the  fruit 
man,  the  irrigator,  the  farmer  alike  —  over  the  great  interior 
valleys,  the  people  divide  into  two  classes.  One  class,  by 
far  the  larger,  migrates  to  the  Coast.  There  the  trade  winds 

241 


242          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

blowing  softly  from  the  Pacific  temper  the  semi- tropic  sun; 
the  Coast  Ranges  bar  back  the  furnace -like  heat  of  the 
interior;  and  the  result  is  a  summer  climate  even  nearer 
perfection  —  though  not  so  much  advertised  —  than  is  that 
of  winter.  Here  the  populace  stays  in  the  big  winter  hotels 
at  reduced  rates,  or  rents  itself  cottages,  or  lives  in  one  or 
the  other  of  the  unique  tent  cities.  It  is  gregarious  and 
noisy,  and  healthy  and  hearty,  and  full  of  phonographs  and 
a  desire  to  live  in  bathing  suits.  Another,  and  smaller  con- 
tingent, turns  to  the  Sierras. 

We  have  here  nothing  to  do  with  those  who  attend  the 
resorts  such  as  Tahoe  or  Klamath;  nor  yet  with  that  much 
smaller  contingent  of  hardy  and  adventurous  spirits  who, 
with  pack-mule  and  saddle,  lose  themselves  in  the  wonderful 
labyrinth  of  granite  and  snow,  of  canon  and  peak,  of  forest 
and  stream  that  makes  up  the  High  Sierras.  But  rather  let 
us  confine  ourselves  to  the  great  middle  class,  the  class  that 
has  not  the  wealth  nor  the  desire  for  resort  hotels,  nor  the 
skill  nor  the  equipment  to  explore  a  wilderness.  These  peo- 
ple hitch  up  the  farm  team,  or  the  grocer's  cart,  or  the  family 
horse,  pile  in  their  bedding  and  their  simple  cooking  utensils, 
whistle  to  the  dog,  and  climb  up  out  of  the  scorching  inferno 
to  the  coolness  of  the  pines. 

They  have  few  but  definite  needs.  They  must  have 
company,  water,  and  the  proximity  of  a  store  where  they 
can  buy  things  to  eat.  If  there  is  fishing,  so  much  the 
better.  At  any  rate  there  is  plenty  of  material  for  bonfires. 
And  since  other  stores  are  practically  unknown  above  the 
six-thousand-foot  winter  limit  of  habitability,  it  follows  that 
each  lumber-mill  is  a  magnet  that  attracts  its  own  community 
of  these  visitors  to  the  out  of  doors. 

As  early  as  the  beginning  of  July  the  first  outfit  drifted  in. 
Below  the  mill  a  half-mile  there  happened  to  be  a  small, 
round  lake  with  meadows  at  the  upper  and  lower  ends.  By 
the  middle  of  the  month  two  hundred  people  were  camped 
there.  Each  constructed  his  abiding  place  according  to  his 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          243 

needs  and  ideas,  and  promptly  erected  a  sign  naming  it.  The 
names  were  facetiously  intended.  The  community  was  out 
for  a  good  time,  and  it  had  it.  Phonographs,  concertinas, 
and  even  a  tiny  transportable  organ  appeared.  The  men 
dressed  in  loose  rough  clothes ;  the  women  wore  sun-bonnets ; 
the  girls  inclined  to  bandana  handkerchiefs,  rough-rider 
skirts  and  leggings,  cowboy  hats  caught  up  at  the  sides, 
fringed  gauntlet  gloves.  They  were  a  good-natured,  kindly 
lot,  and  Bob  liked  nothing  better  than  to  stroll  down  to  the 
Lake  in  the  twilight.  There  he  found  the  arrangements 
differing  widely.  The  smaller  ranchmen  lived  roughly, 
sleeping  under  the  stars,  perhaps,  cooking  over  an  open  fire, 
eating  from  tinware.  The  larger  ranchmen  did  things  in 
better  style.  They  brought  rocking  chairs,  big  tents,  china- 
ware,  camp  stoves  and  Japanese  servants  to  manipulate 
them.  The  women  had  flags  and  Chinese  lanterns  with 
which  to  decorate,  hammocks  in  which  to  lounge,  books  to 
read,  tables  at  which  to  sit,  cots  and  mattresses  on  which  to 
sleep.  No  difference  in  social  status  was  made,  however. 
The  young  people  undertook  their  expeditions  together: 
the  older  folks  swapped  yarns  in  the  peaceful  enjoyment  of 
the  forest.  Bob  found  interest  in  all,  for  as  yet  the  California 
ranchman  has  not  lost  in  humdrum  occupations  the  initiative 
that  brought  him  to  a  new  country  nor  the  influences  of  the 
experience  he  has  gained  there.  To  his  surprise  several  of 
the  parties  were  composed  entirely  of  girls.  One,  of  four 
members,  was  made  up  of  students  from  Berkeley,  out  for 
their  summer  vacation.  Late  in  the  summer  these  four 
damsels  constructed  a  pack  of  their  belongings,  lashed  it  on 
a  borrowed  mule,  and  departed.  They  were  gone  for  a 
week  in  the  back  country,  and  returned  full  of  adventures 
over  the  detailing  of  which  they  laughed  until  they  gasped. 

To  Bob's  astonishment  none  of  the  men  seemed  particu- 
larly wrought  up  over  this  escapade. 

"They're  used  to  the  mountains,"  he  was  assured,  "and 
they'll  get  along  all  right  with  that  old  mule." 


244          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Does  anybody  live  over  there?"  asked  Bob. 

"No,  it's  just  a  wild  country,  but  the  trails  is  good." 

"Suppose  they  get  into  trouble?" 

"What  trouble?  And  'tain't  likely  they'd  all  get  into 
trouble  to  once." 

"I  should  think  they'd  be  scared." 

"Nothin'  to  be  scared  of,"  replied  the  man  comfortably. 

Bob  thought  of  the  great,  uninhabited  mountains,  the 
dark  forests,  the  immense  loneliness  and  isolation,  the  thou- 
sand subtle  and  psychic  influences  which  the  wilderness 
exerts  over  the  untried  soul.  There  might  be  nothing  to 
be  scared  of,  as  the  man  said.  Wild  animals  are  harmless, 
the  trails  are  good.  But  he  could  not  imagine  any  of  the 
girls  with  whom  he  had  acquaintance  pushing  off  thus 
joyous  and  unafraid  into  a  wilderness  three  days  beyond 
the  farthest  outpost.  He  had  yet  to  understand  the  spirit, 
almost  universal  among  the  native-born  Californians,  that 
has  been  brought  up  so  intimately  with  the  large  things  of 
nature  that  the  sublime  is  no  longer  the  terrible.  Perhaps 
this  states  it  a  little  too  pompously.  They  have  learned 
that  the  mere  absence  of  mankind  is  '  nothing  to  be  scared 
of;  they  have  learned  how  to  be  independent  and  to  take 
care  of  themselves.  Consequently,  as  a  matter  of  course,  as 
one  would  ride  in  the  park,  they  undertake  expeditions  into 
the  Big  Country. 

Many  of  these  travellers,  especially  toward  the  close  of 
the  summer,  complained  bitterly  of  the  scarcity  of  horse- 
feed.  In  the  back  country  where  the  mountains  were  high 
and  the  wilderness  unbroken,  they  depended  for  forage  on  the 
grasses  of  the  mountain  meadows.  This  year  they  reported 
that  the  cattle  had  eaten  the  forage  down  to  the  roots. 
Where  usually  had  been  abundance  and  pleasant  camping, 
now  were  hard,  close  lawns,  and  cattle  overrunning  and 
defiling  everything.  Under  the  heavy  labour  of  mountain 
travel  the  horses  fell  off  rapidly  in  flesh  and  strength. 

"We're  the  public  just  as  much  as  them  cattlemen," 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          245 

declamied  one  grizzled  veteran  waving  his  pipe.  "I  come 
to  these  mountains  first  in  sixty-six,  and  the  sheep  was  bad 
enough  then,  but  you  always  had  some  horse  meadows. 
Now  they're  just  plumb  overrunning  the  country.  There's 
thousands  and  thousands  of  folks  that  come  in  camping, 
and  about  a  dozen  of  these  yere  cattlemen.  They  got  no 
right  to  hog  the  public  land." 

With  so  much  approval  did  this  view  meet  that  a  delegation 
went  to  Plant's  summer  quarters  to  talk  it  over.  The 
delegation  returned  somewhat  red  about  the  ears.  Plant 
had  politely  but  robustly  told  it  that  a  supervisor  was  the 
best  judge  of  how  to  run  his  own  forest.  This  led  to  declama- 
tory denunciation,  after  the  American  fashion,  but  without 
resulting  in  further  activity.  Resentment  seemed  to  be  about 
equally  divided  between  Plant  and  the  cattlemen  as  a  class. 

This  resentment  as  to  the  latter,  however,  soon  changed 
to  sympathy.  In  September  the  Pollock  boys  stopped  over- 
night at  the  Lake  Meadow  on  their  way  out.  Their  cattle, 
in  charge  of  the  dogs,  they  threw  for  the  night  into  a  rude 
corral  of  logs,  built  many  years  before  for  just  that  purpose. 
Their  horses  they  fed  with  barley  hay  bought  from  Merker. 
Their  camp  they  spread  away  from  the  others,  near  the 
spring.  It  was  dark  before  they  lit  their  fire.  Visitors 
sauntering  over  found  George  and  Jim  Pollock  on  either 
side  the  haphazard  blaze  stolidly  warming  through  flapjacks, 
and  occasionally  settling  into  a  firmer  position  the  huge 
coffee  pot.  The  dust  and  sweat  of  driving  cattle  still  lay 
thick  on  their  faces.  A  boy  of  eighteen,  plainly  the  son  of 
one  of  the  other  two,  was  hanging  up  the  saddles.  The 
whole  group  appeared  low-spirited  and  tired.  The  men  res- 
ponded to  the  visitors  by  a  brief  nod  only.  The  latter  there- 
upon sat  down  just  inside  the  circle  of  lamplight  and  smoked 
in  silence.  Presently  Jim  arose  stiffly,  frying  pan  in  hand. 

"It's  done,"  he  announced. 

They  ate  in  silence,  consuming  great  quantities  of  half- 
cooked  flapjacks,  chunks  of  overdone  beef,  and  tin-cupfuls 


246          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

of  scalding  coffee.  When  they  had  finished  they  thrust  aside 
the  battered  tin  dishes  with  the  air  of  men  too  weary  to  bother 
further  with  them.  They  rolled  brown  paper  .cigarettes  and 
smoked  listlessly.  After  a  time  George  Pollock  remarked: 

"We  ain't  washed  up." 

The  statement  resulted  in  no  immediate  action.  After 
a  few  moments  more,  however,  the  boy  arose  slowly,  gathered 
the  dishes  clattering  into  a  kettle,  filled  the  latter  with  water, 
and  set  it  in  the  fire.  Jim  and  his  brother,  too,  bestirred 
themselves,  disappearing  in  the  direction  of  the  spring  with 
a  bar  of  mottled  soap,  an  old  towel,  and  a  battered  pan. 
They  returned  after  a  few  moments,  their  faces  shining, 
their  hair  wetted  and  sleeked  down. 

"Plumb  too  lazy  to  wash  up."  George  addressed  the 
silent  visitors  by  way  of  welcome. 

"  Drove  far  ?  "  asked  an  old  ranchman. 

"Twin  Peaks." 

"How's  the  feed?"  came  the  inevitable  cowman's  question. 

"Pore,  pore,"  replied  the  mountaineer.  "Ain't  never 
seen  it  so  short.  My  cattle's  pore." 

"Well,  you're  overstocked;  that's  what's  the  matter," 
spoke  up  some  one  boldly. 

George  Pollock  turned  his  face  toward  this  voice. 

"  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  it  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  There's 
a  thousand  head  too  many  on  my  range  alone.  I've  been 
crowded  and  pushed  all  summer,  and  I  ain't  got  a  beef  steer  fit 
to  sell,  right  now.  My  cattle  are  so  pore  I'll  have  to  winter  'em 
on  foothill  winter  feed.  And  in  the  spring  they'll  be  porer." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  all  get  together  and  reduce  your 
stock?"  persisted  the  questioner.  "Then  there'll  be  a  show 
for  somebody.  I  got  three  packs  and  two  saddlers  that 
ain't  fatted  up  from  a  two  weeks'  trip  in  August.  You  got 
the  country  skinned;  and  that  ain't  no  dream." 

George  Pollock  turned  so  fiercely  that  his  listeners  shrank. 

"Get  together!  Reduce  our  stock  1"  he  snarled,  shaken 
from  the  customary  impassivity  of  the  mountaineer.  "It 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          247 

ain't  us!  We  got  the  same  number  of  cattle,  all  we  mountain 
men,  that  our  fathers  had  afore  us!  There  ain't  never  been 
no  trouble  before.  Sometimes  we  crowded  a  little,  but  we 
all  know  our  people  and  we  could  fix  things  up,  and  so  long 
as  they  let  us  be,  we  got  along  all  right.  It  don't  pay  us  to 
overstock.  What  for  do  we  keep  cattle?  To  sell,  don't 
we?  And  we  can't  sell  'em  unless  they're  fat.  Summer 
feed's  all  we  got  to  fat  'em  on.  Winter  feed's  no  good.  You 
know  that.  We  ain't  going  to  crowd  our  range.  You  make 
me  tired!" 

"What's  the  trouble  then?" 

"Outsiders,"  snapped  Pollock.  "Folks  that  live  on  the 
plains  and  just  push  in  to  summer  their  cattle  anyhow, 
and  then  fat  'em  for  the  market  on  alfalfa  hay.  This  ain't 
their  country.  Why  don't  they  stick  to  their  own?" 

"Can't  you  handle  them?    Who  are  they?" 

"It  ain't  they,"  replied  George  Pollock  sullenly.  "It's 
him.  It's  the  richest  man  in  California,  with  forty  ranches 
and  fifty  thousand  head  of  cattle  and  a  railroad  or  two  and 
God  knows  what  else.  But  he'll  come  up  here  and  take 
a  pore  man's  living  away  from  him  for  the  sake  of  a  few 
hundred  dollars  saved." 

"  Old  Simeon,  hey  ?"  remarked  the  ranchman  thoughtfully. 

"Simeon  Wright,"  said  Pollock.  "The  same  damn  old 
robber.  Forest  Reserves!"  he  sneered  bitterly.  "For  the 
use  of  the  public!  Hell!  Who's  the  public?  me  and  you 
and  the  other  fellow  ?  The  public  is  Simeon  Wright.  What 
do  you  expect?" 

"  Didn't  Plant  say  he  was  going  to  look  into  the  matter 
for  next  year  ?  "  Bob  inquired  from  the  other  side  the  fire. 

"  Plant !  He's  bought,"  returned  Pollock  contemptuously. 
"  He's  never  seen  the  country,  anyway ;  and  he  never  will." 

He  rose  and  kicked  the  fire  together. 

"  Good  night ! "  he  said  shortly,  and,  retiring  to  the 
shadows,  rolled  himself  in  a  blanket  and  turned  his  back 
on  the  visitors. 


XIII 

THE  season  passed  without  further  incidents  of  general 
interest.  It  was  a  busy  season,  as  mountain  seasons 
always  are.  Bob  had  opportunity  to  go  nowhere; 
but  in  good  truth  he  had  no  desire  to  do  so.  The  surround- 
ings immediate  to  the  work  were  rich  enough  in  interest. 
After  the  flurry  caused  by  the  delay  in  opening  communi- 
cation, affairs  fell  into  their  grooves.  The  days  passed  on 
wings.  Almost  before  he  knew  it,  the  dogwood  leaves 
had  turned  rose,  the  aspens  yellow,  and  the  pines,  thinning 
in  anticipation  of  the  heavy  snows,  were  dropping  their 
russet  needles  everywhere.  A  light  snow  in  September 
reminded  the  workers  of  the  altitude.  By  the  first  of  Novem- 
ber the  works  were  closed  down.  -The  donkey  engines  had 
been  roughly  housed  in;  the  machinery  protected;  all  things 
prepared  against  the  heavy  Sierra  snows.  Only  the  three 
caretakers  were  left  to  inhabit  a  warm  corner.  Throughout 
the  winter  these  men  would  shovel  away  threatening  weights 
of  snow  and  see  to  the  damage  done  by  storms.  In  order  to 
keep  busy  they  might  make  shakes,  or  perhaps  set  themselves 
to  trapping  fur-bearing  animals.  They  would  use  skis  to 
get  about. 

For  a  month  after  coming  down  from  the  mountain,  Bob 
stayed  at  Auntie  Belle's.  There  were  a  number  of  things 
to  attend  to  on  the  lower  levels,  such  as  anticipating  repairs 
to  flumes,  roads  and  equipment,  systematizing  the  yard 
arrangements,  and  the  like.  Here  Bob  came  to  know  more 
of  the  countryside  and  its  people. 

He  found  this  lower,  but  still  mountainous,  country 
threaded  by  roads ;  rough  roads,  to  be  sure,  but  well  enough 

248 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          249 

graded.  Along  these  roads  were  the  ranch  houses  and 
spacious  corrals  of  the  mountain  people.  Far  and  wide 
through  the  wooded  and  brushy  foothills  roamed  the  cattle, 
seeking  the  forage  of  the  winter  range  that  a  summer's 
absence  in  the  high  mountains  had  saved  for  them.  Bob 
used  often  to  "tie  his  horse  to  the  ground"  and  enter  for  a 
chat  with  these  people.  Harbouring  some  vague  notions 
of  Southern  "crackers,"  he  was  at  first  considerably  sur 
prised.  The  houses  were  in  general  well  built  and  clean, 
even  though  primitive,  and  Bob  had  often  occasion  to  notice 
excellent  books  and  magazines.  There  were  always  plenty 
of  children  of  all  sizes.  The  young  women  were  usually 
attractive  and  blooming.  They  insisted  on  hospitality; 
and  Bob  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  persuading  them  that 
he  stood  in  no  immediate  need  of  nourishment.  The  men 
repaid  cultivation.  Their  ideas  were  often  faulty  because 
of  insufficient  basis  of  knowledge:  but,  when  untinged  by 
prejudice,  apt  to  be  logical.  Opinions  were  always  positive, 
and  always  existent.  No  phenomenon,  social  or  physical, 
could  come  into  their  ken  without  being  mulled  over  and 
decided  upon.  In  the  field  of  their  observations  were  no 
dead  facts.  Not  much  given  to  reception  of  contrary  argu- 
ment or  idea  they  were  always  eager  for  new  facts.  Bob 
found  himself  often  held  in  good-humoured  tolerance  as  a 
youngster  when  he  advanced  his  opinion;  but  listened  to 
thirstily  when  he  could  detail  actual  experience  or  knowl- 
edge. The  head  of  the  house  held  patriarchal  sway  until 
the  grown-up  children  were  actually  ready  to  leave  the 
paternal  roof  for  homes  of  their  own.  One  and  all  loved 
the  mountains,  though  incoherently,  and  perhaps  without 
full  consciousness  of  the  fact.  They  were  extremely  tena- 
cious of  personal  rights. 

Bob,  being  an  engaging  and  open-hearted  youth,  soon 
gained  favour.  Among  others  he  came  to  know  the  two 
Pollock  families  well.  Jim  Pollock,  with  his  large  brood, 
had  arrived  at  a  certain  philosophical,  though  watchful, 


250          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

acceptance  of  life;  but  George,  younger,  recently  married, 
and  eagerly  ambitious,  chafed  sorely.  The  Pollocks  had 
been  in  the  country  for  three  generations.  They  inhabited 
two  places  on  opposite  sides  of  a  canon.  These  houses 
possessed  the  distinction  of  having  the  only  two  red-brick 
chimneys  in  the  hills.  They  were  low,  comfortable,  ram- 
bling, vine-clad. 

"We  always  run  cattle  in  these  hills,"  said  George  fiercely 
to  Bob,  "and  got  along  all  right.  But  these  last  three  years 
it's  been  bad.  Unless  we  can  fat  our  cattle  on  the  summer 
ranges  in  the  high  mountains,  we  can't  do  business.  The 
grazing  on  these  lower  hills  you  just  got  to  save  for  winter. 
You  can't  raise  no  hay  here.  Since  they  begun  to  crowd 
us  with  old  Wright's  stock  it's  tur'ble.  I  ain't  had  a  head 
of  beef  cattle  fittin'  to  sell,  bar  a  few  old  cows.  And  if  I 
ain't  got  cattle  to  sell,  where  do  I  get  money  to  live  on?  I 
always  been  out  of  debt;  but  this  year  I  done  put  a  mort- 
gage on  the  place  to  get  money  to  go  on  with." 

"We  can  always  eat  beef,  George,"  said  his  wife  with  a 
little  laugh,  "and  miner's  lettuce.  We  ain't  the  first  folks 
that  has  had  hard  times  —  and  got  over  it." 

"Mebbe  not,"  agreed  George,  glancing  with  furrowed 
brow  at  a.  tiny  garment  on  which  Mrs.  George  was  sewing. 

Jim  Pollock,  smoking  comfortably  in  his  shirt  sleeves 
before  his  fire,  was  not  so  worried.  His  youngest  slept  in 
his  arms;  two  children  played  and  tumbled  on  the  floor; 
buxom  Mrs.  Pollock  bustled  here  and  there  on  household 
business;  the  older  children  sprawled  over  the  table  under 
the  lamp  reading;  the  oldest  boy,  with  wrinkled  brow,  toiled 
through  the  instructions  of  a  correspondence  school  course. 

"George  always  takes  it  hard,"  said  Jim.  "I've  got 
six  kids,  and  he'll  have  one  —  or  at  most  two  —  mebbe. 
It's  hard  times  all  right,  and  a  hard  year.  I  had  to  mortgage, 
too.  Lord  love  you,  a  mortgage  ain't  so  bad  as  a  porous 
plaster.  It'll  come  off.  One  good  year  for  beef  will  fix  us. 
We  ain't  lost  nothing  but  this  year's  sales.  Our  cattle  are 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          251 

too  pore  for  beef,  but  they're  all  in  good  enough  shape.     We 
ain't  lost  none.     Next  year'll  be  better." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  asked  Bob. 

"Well,  Smith,he's  superintendent  atWhiteOaks,  you  know, 
he's  favourable  to  us.  I  seed  him  myself.  And  even  Plant, 
he's  sent  old  California  John  back  to  look  over  what  shape 
the  ranges  are  in.  There  ain't  no  doubt  as  to  which  way 
he'll  report.  Old  John  is  a  cattleman,  and  he's  square." 

One  day  Bob  found  himself  belated  after  a  fishing  excur- 
sion to  the  upper  end  of  the  valley.  As  a  matter  of  course  he 
stopped  over  night  with  the  first  people  whose  ranch  he 
came  to.  It  was  not  much  of  a  ranch  and  it's  two-room 
house  was  of  logs  and  shakes,  but  the  owners  were  hospitable. 
Bob  put  his  horse  into  a  ramshackle  shed,  banked  with 
earth  against  the  winter  cold.  He  had  a  good  time  all  the 
evening. 

"I'm  going  to  hike  out  before  breakfast,"  said  he  before 
turning  in,  "so  if  you'll  just  show  me  where  the  lantern  is, 
I  won't  bother  you  in  the  morning." 

"Lantern!"  snorted  the  mountaineer.  "You  turn  on  the 
switch.  It's  just  to  the  right  of  the  door  as  you  go  in." 

So  Bob  encountered  another  of  the  curious  anomalies 
not  infrequent  to  the  West.  He  entered  a  log  stable  in  the 
remote  backwoods  and  turned  on  a  sixteen-candle-power 
electric  globe!  As  he  extended  his  rides  among  the  low 
mountains  of  the  First  Rampart,  he  ran  across  many  more 
places  where  electric  light  and  even  electric  power  were  used 
in  the  rudest  habitations. 

The  explanation  was  very  simple ;  these  men  had  possessed 
small  water  rights  which  Baker  had  needed.  As  part  of 
their  compensation  they  received  from  Power  House  Num- 
ber One  what  current  they  required  for  their  own  use. 

Thus  reminded,  Bob  one  Sunday  visited  Power  House 
Number  One.  It  proved  to  be  a  corrugated  iron  structure 
through  which  poured  a  great  stream  and  from  which  went 
high-tension  wires  strung  to  mushroom- shaped  insulators. 


252          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

It  was  filled  with  the  clean  and  shining  machinery  of  elec- 
tricity. Bob  rode  up  the  flume  to  the  reservoir,  a  great  lake 
penned  in  canon  walls  by  a  dam  sixty  feet  high.  The  flume 
itself  was  of  concrete,  large  enough  to  carry  a  rushing  stream. 
He  made  the  acquaintance  of  some  of  the  men  along  the 
works.  They  tramped  and  rode  back  and  forth  along  the 
right  of  way,  occupied  with  their  insulations,  the  height  of 
their  water,  their  watts  and  volts  and  amperes.  Surround- 
ings were  a  matter  of  indifference  to  them.  Activity  was 
of  the  same  sort,  whether  in  the  city  or  in  the  wilderness.  As 
influences  —  city  or  wilderness  —  it  was  all  the  same  to 
them.  They  made  their  own  influences  —  which  in  turn 
developed  a  special  type  of  people  —  among  the  delicate  and 
powerful  mysteries  of  their  craft.  Down  through  the  land 
they  had  laid  the  narrow,  uniform  strip  of  their  peculiar 
activities;  and  on  that  strip  they  dwelt  satisfied  with  a  world 
of  their  own.  Bob  sat  in  a  swinging  chair  talking  in  snatches 
to  Hicks,  between  calls  on  the  telephone.  He  listened  to 
quick,  sharp  orders  as  to  men  and  instruments,  as  to  the 
management  of  water,  the  undertaking  of  repairs.  These 
were  couched  in  technical  phrases  and  slang,  for  the  most 
part.  By  means  of  the  telephone  Hicks  seemed  to  keep  in 
touch  not  only  with  the  plants  in  his  own  district,  but  also 
with  the  activities  in  Power  Houses  Two,  Three  and  Four, 
many  miles  away.  Hicks  had  never  once,  in  four  years, 
been  to  the  top  of  the  first  range.  He  had  had  no  interest  in 
doing  so.  Neither  had  he  an  interest  in  the  foothill  country 
to  the  west. 

"I'd  kind  of  like  to  get  back  and  kill  a  buck  or  so,"  he 
confessed;  "but  I  haven't  got  the  time." 

"It's  a  different  country  up  where  we  are,"  urged  Bob. 
"You  wouldn't  know  it  for  the  same  state  as  this  dry  and 
brushy  country.  It  has  fine  timber  and  green  grass." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Hicks  indifferently.  "But  I  haven't 
got  the  time." 

Bob  rode  away  a  trifle  inclined  to  that  peculiar  form  of 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          253 

smug  pity  a  hotel  visitor  who  has  been  in  a  place  a  week 
feels  for  yesterday's  arrival.  He  knew  the  coolness  of  the 
great  mountain. 

At  this  point  an  opening  in  the  second  growth  of  yellow 
pines  permitted  him  a  vista.  He  looked  back.  He  had 
never  been  in  this  part  of  the  country  before.  A  little 
portion  of  Baldy,  framed  in  a  pine-clad  cleft  through  the  First 
Range,  towered  chill,  rugged  and  marvellous  in  its  granite 
and  snow.  For  the  first  time  Bob  realized  that  even  so 
immediately  behind  the  scene  of  his  summer's  work  were 
other  higher,  more  wonderful  countries.  As  he  watched, 
the  peak  was  lost  in  the  blackness  of  one  of  those  sudden 
storms  that  gather  out  of  nothing  about  the  great  crests.  The 
cloud  spread  like  magic  in  all  directions.  The  faint  roll  of 
thunder  came  down  a  wind,  damp  and  cool,  sucked  from 
the  high  country. 

Bob  rounded  a  bend  in  the  road  to  overtake  old  California 
John,  jingling  placidly  along  on  his  beautiful  sorrel.  Though 
by  no  means  friendly  to  any  member  of  this  branch  of 
government  service,  Bob  reined  his  animal. 

"Hullo,"  said  he,  overborne  by  an  unexpected  impulse. 

"Good  day,"  responded  the  old  man,  with  a  friendly 
deepening  of  the  kindly  wrinkles  about  his  blue  eyes. 

"  John,"  asked  Bob,  "  were  you  ever  in  those  big  mountains 
there?" 

"  Baldy  ?  "  said  the  Ranger.  "  Lord  love  you,  yes.  I  have 
to  cross  Baldy  'most  every  time  I  go  to  the  back  country. 
There's  two  good  passes  through  Baldy." 

"Back  country!"  repeated  Bob.  "Are  there  any  higher 
mountains  than  those?" 

Old  California  John  chuckled. 

"Listen,  son,"  said  he.  "There's  the  First  Range,  and 
then  Stone  Creek,  and  then  Baldy.  And  on  the  other  side 
of  Baldy  there's  the  canon  of  the  Joncal  which  is  three 
thousand  foot  down.  And  then  there's  the  Burro  Mount- 
ains, which  is  half  again  as  high  as  Baldy,  and  all  the 


254         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Burro  country  to  Little  Jackass.  That's  a  plateau  covered 
with  lodge-pole  pine  and  meadows  and  creeks  and  little 
lakes.  It's  a  big  plateau,  and  when  you're  a-ridin'  it,  you 
shore  seem  like  bein'  in  a  wide,  flat  country.  And  then 
there's  the  Green  Mountain  country;  and  you  drop  off  five 
or  six  thousand  foot  into  the  box  canon  of  the  north  fork; 
and  then  you  climb  out  again  to  Red  Mountain;  and  after 
that  is  the  Pinnacles.  The  Pinnacles  is  the  Fourth  Rampart. 
After  them  is  South  Meadow,  and  the  Boneyard.  Then 
you  get  to  the  Main  Crest.  And  that's  only  if  you  go  plumb 
due  east.  North  and  south  there's  all  sorts  of  big  country. 
Why,  Baldy's  only  a  sort  of  taster." 

Bob's  satisfaction  with  himself  collapsed.  This  land  so 
briefly  shadowed  forth  was  penetrable  only  in  summer:  that 
he  well  knew.  And  all  summer  Bob  was  held  to  the  great 
tasks  of  the  forest.  He  hadn't  the  time!  Wherein  did  he 
differ  from  Hicks?  In  nothing  save  that  his  right  of  wav 
happened  to  be  a  trifle  wider. 

"Have  you  been  to  all  these  places?"  asked  Bob. 

"Many  times,"  replied  California  John.  "From  Stan- 
islaus to  the  San  Bernardino  desert  I've  ridden." 

"How  big  a  country  is  that?" 

"It's  about  four  hundred  mile  long,  and  about  eighty  mile 
wide  as  the  crow  flies  —  a  lot  bigger  as  a  man  must 
ride." 

"All  big  mountains?" 

"Surely." 

"You  must  have  been  everywhere?" 

"No,"  said  California  John,  "I  never  been  to  Jack  Main's 
Canon.  It's  too  fur  up,  and  I  never  could  get  time  off  to 
go  in  there." 

So  this  man,  too,  the  ranger  whose  business  it  was  to  travel 
far  and  wide  in  the  wild  country,  sighed  for  that  which  lay 
beyond  his  right  of  way!  Suddenly  Bob  was  filled  with  a 
desire  to  transcend  all  these  activities,  to  travel  on  and  over 
the  different  rights  of  way  to  which  ail  the  rest  of  the  world 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          255 

was  confined  until  he  knew  them  all  and  what  lay  beyond 
them.  The  impulse  was  but  momentary,  and  Bob  laughed 
at  himself  as  it  passed. 

"  'Something  hid  beyond  the  ranges,'  "  he  quoted  softly 
to  himself. 

Suddenly  he  looked  up,  and  gathered  his  reins. 

"John,"  he  said,  "we're  going  to  catch  that  storm." 

"  Surely,"  replied  the  old  man  looking  at  him  with  surprise; 
"just  found  that  out?" 

"Well,  we'd  better  hurry." 

"What's  the  use?  It'll  catch  us,  anyhow.  We're  shore 
due  to  get  wet." 

"Well,  let's  hunt  a  good  tree." 

"No,'  3aid  California  John,  "this  is  a  thunder-storm, 
and  trees  is  too  scurce.  You  just  keep  ridin'  along  the  open 
road.  I've  noticed  that  lightnin'  don't  hit  twice  in  the 
same  place  mainly  because  the  same  place  don't  seem  to  be 
thar  any  more  after  the  first  time." 

The  first  big  drops  of  the  storm  delayed  fully  five  minutes. 
It  did  seem  foolish  to  be  jogging  peacefully  along  at  a  fox- 
trot while  the  tempest  gathered  its  power,  but  Bob  realized 
the  justice  of  his  companion's  remarks. 

When  it  did  begin,  however,  it  made  up  for  lost  time.  The 
rain  fell  as  though  it  Cad  been  turned  out  of  a  bucket.  In 
an  instant  every  runnel  was  full.  The  water  even  flowed  in 
a  thin  sheet  from  the  hard  surface  of  the  ground.  The  men 
were  soaked. 

Then  came  the  thunder  in  a  burst  of  fury  and  noise.  The 
lightning  flashed  almost  continuously,  not  only  down,  but 
aslant,  and  even  —  Bob  thought  —  up.  The  thunder  roared 
and  reverberated  and  reechoed  until  the  world  was  filled 
with  its  crashes.  Bob's  nerves  were  steady  with  youth  and 
natural  courage,  but  the  implacable  rapidity  with  which 
assault  followed  assault  ended  by  shaking  him  into  a  sort  of 
confusion.  His  horse  snorted,  pricking  its  ears  backward 
and  forward,  dancing  from  side  to  side.  The  lightning 


256          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

seemed  iairly  to  spring  into  being  all  about  them,  from  the 
substance  of  the  murk  in  which  they  rode. 

"Isn't  this  likely  to  hit  us?"  he  yelled  at  California  John. 

"Liable  to,"  came  back  the  old  man's  reply  across  the  roar 
of  the  tempest. 

Bob  looked  about  him  uneasily.  The  ranger  bent  his 
head  to  the  wind.  Star,  walking  more  rapidly,  outpaced 
Bob's  horse,  until  they  were  proceeding  single  file  some  ten 
feet  apart. 

Suddenly  the  earth  seemed  to  explode  directly  ahead.  A 
blinding  flare  swept  the  ground,  a  hissing  crackle  was 
drowned  in  an  overwhelming  roar  of  thunder.  Bob  dodged, 
and  his  horse  whirled.  When  he  had  mastered  both  his 
animal  and  himself  he  spurred  back.  California  John  had 
reined  in  his  mount.  Not  twenty  feet  ahead  of  him  the  bolt 
had  struck.  California  John  glanced  quizzically  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  sky. 

"Old  Man,"  he  remarked,  "you'll  have  to  lower  you:. 
sights  a  little,  if  you  want  to  git  me." 


XIV 

A  CHRISTMAS  Bob  took  a  brief  trip  East,  returning 
to  California  about  the  middle  of  January.  The 
remainder  of  the  winter  was  spent  in  outside  business, 
and  in  preparatory  arrangements  for  the  next  season's  work. 
The  last  of  April  he  returned  to  the  lower  mountains. 

He  found  Sycamore  Flats  in  a  fever  of  excitement  over 
the  cattle  question.  After  lighting  his  post-prandial  pipe 
he  sauntered  down  to  chat  with  Martin,  the  lank  and  leisurely 
keeper  of  the  livery,  proprietor  of  the  general  store,  and; 
clearing  house  of  both  information  and  gossip. 

"It  looks  like  this,"  Martin  answered  Bob's  question. 
"You  remember  Plant  sent  back  old  California  John  to 
make  a  report  on  the  grazing.  John  reported  her  over- 
stocked, of  course;  nobody  could  have  done  different.  Plant 
kind  of  promised  to  fix  things  up;  and  the  word  got  around 
pretty  definite  that  the  outside  stock  would  be  reduced." 

"Wasn't  it?" 

"Not  so  you'd  notice.  When  the  permits  was  published 
for  this  summer,  they  read  good  for  the  same  old  number." 

"Then  Wright's  cattle  will  be  in  again  this  year." 

"That's  the  worst  of  it;  they  are  in.  Shelby  brought  upp 
a  thousand  head  a  week  ago,  and  was  going  to  push  them 
right  in  over  the  snow.  The  feed's  just  starting  on  the  low 
meadows  in  back,  and  it  hasn't  woke  up  a  mite  in  the  higher 
meadows.  You  throw  cattle  in  on  that  mushy,  soft  ground 
and  new  feed,  and  they  tromp  down  and  destroy  more'n 
they  eat.  No  mountain  cattleman  goes  in  till  the  feed's 
weU  started,  never." 

"But  what  does  Shelby  do  it  for,  then?" 

257 


258          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Martin  spat  accurately  at  a  knothole. 

""Oh,  he  don't  care.  Those  big  men  don't  give  a  damn 
what  kind  of  shape  cattle  is  in,  as  long  as  they  stay  alive. 
Same  with  humans;  only  they  ain't  so  particular  about  the 
staying  alive  part." 

" Couldn't  anything  be  done  to  stop  them?" 

"Plant  could  keep  them  out,  but  he  won't.  Jim  and 
George  Pollock,  and  Tom  Carroll  and  some  of  the  other 
boys  put  up  such  a  kick,  though,  that  they  saw  a  great  light. 
They  ain't  going  in  for  a  couple  of  weeks  more." 

"That's  all  right,  then,"  said  Bob  heartily. 

"Is  it?  "asked  Martin. 

"Isn't  it?"  inquired  Bob. 

"Well,  some  says  not.  Of  course  they  couldn't  be  expected 
to  drive  all  those  cattle  back  to  the  plains,  so  they're 
just  naturally  spraddled  out  grazing  over  this  lower 
country." 

"Why,  what  becomes  of  the  winter  feed?"  cried  Bob 
aghast,  well  aware  that  in  these  lower  altitudes  the  season's 
growth  was  nearly  finished  and  the  ripening  about  to  begin. 

"That's  just  it,"  said  Martin;  "where,  oh,  where?" 

"Can't  anything  be  done?"  repeated  Bob,  with  some 
show  of  indignation. 

"What?  This  is  all  government  land.  The  mountain 
boys  ain't  got  any  real  exclusive  rights  there.  It's  public 
property.  The  regulations  are  pretty  clear  about  preference 
being  given  to  the  small  owner,  and  the  local  man;  but 
that's  up  to  Plant." 

"It'll  come  pretty  hard  on  some  of  the  boys,  if  they  keep 
on  eating  off  their  winter  feed  and  their  summer  feed  too," 
hazarded  Bob. 

"It'll  drive  'em  out  of  business,"  said  Martin.  "It'll  dc 
more;  it'll  close  out  settlement  in  this  country.  There  ain't 
nothing  doing  but  cattle,  and  if  the  small  cattle  business  is 
closed  up,  the  permanent  settlement  closes  up  too.  There's 
only  lumber  and  power  and  such  left;  and  they  don't  mean 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          259 

settlement.  That's  what  the  Government  is  supposed  to 
look  out  for." 

"Government!"  said  Bob  with  contempt. 

"Well,  now,  there's  a  few  good  ones,  oven  at  that,"  stated 
Martin  argumentively.  "  There's  old  John,  and  Ross 
Fletcher,  and  one  or  two  more  that  are  on  the  square.  It 
may  be  these  little  grafters  have  got  theirs  coming  yet.  Now 
and  then  an  inspector  comes  along.  He  looks  over  the 
books  old  Hen  Plant  or  the  next  fellow  has  fixed  up;  asks  a 
few  questions  about  trails  and  such;  writes  out  a  nice  little 
recommend  on  his  pocket  typewriter,  and  moves  on.  And 
if  there's  a  roar  from  some  of  these  little  fellows,  why  it  gets 
lost.  Some  clerk  nails  it,  and  sends  it  to  Mr.  Inspector 
with  a  blue  question  mark  on  it;  and  Mr.  Inspector  passes 
it  on  to  Mr.  Supervisor  for  explanation;  and  Mr.  Super- 
visor's strong  holt  is  explanations.  There  you  are!  But 
it  only  needs  one  inspector  who  inspects  to  knock  over  the 
whole  apple-cart.  Once  get  by  your  clerk  to  your  chief,  and 
you  got  it." 

Whether  Martin  made  this  prediction  in  a  spirit  of  hope 
and  a  full  knowledge,  or  whether  his  shot  in  the  air  merely 
chanced  to  hit  the  mark,  it  would  be  impossible  to  say.  As 
a  matter  of  fact  within  the  month  appeared  Ashley  Thorne,  an 
inspector  who  inspected. 

By  this  time  all  the  cattle,  both  of  the  plainsmen  and  the 
mountaineers,  had  gone  back.  The  mill  had  commenced 
its  season's  operations.  After  the  routine  of  work  had 
been  well  established,  Bob  had  descended  to  attend  to  cer- 
tain grading  of  the  lumber  for  a  special  sale  of  uppers.  Thus 
he  found  himself  on  the  scene. 

Ashley  Thorne  was  driven  in.  He  arrived  late  in  the 
afternoon.  Plant  with  his  coat  on,  and  a  jovial  expression 
illuminating  his  fat  face,  held  out  both  hands  in  greeting  as 
the  vehicle  came  to  a  stop  by  Martin's  barn.  The  Inspector 
leaped  quickly  to  the  ground.  He  was  seen  to  be  a  man 
between  thirty  and  forty,  compactly  built,  alert  in  movement 


260         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

He  had  a  square  face,  aggressive  gray  eyes,  and  wore  a 
small  moustache  clipped  at  the  line  of  the  lips. 

"Hullo!  Hullo!"  roared  Plant  in  his  biggest  voice.  "So 
here  we  are,  hey!  Kind  of  dry,  hot  travel,  but  we've  got 
the  remedy  for  that." 

"How  are  you?"  said  Thorne  crisply;  "are  you  Mr. 
Plant  ?  Glad  to  meet  you." 

"Leave  your  truck,"  said  Plant.  "I'll  send  some  one 
after  it.  Come  right  along  with  me." 

"Thanks,"  said  Thorne,  "but  I  think  I'll  take  a  wash 
and  clean  up  a  bit,  first." 

"That's  all  right,"  urged  Plant.     "We  can  fix  you  up." 

"Where  is  the  hotel?"  asked  Thorne. 

"Hotel!"  cried  Plant,  "ain't  you  going  to  stay  with 
me?" 

"It  is  kind  of  you,  and  I  appreciate  it,"  said  Thorne 
briefly,  "but  I  never  mix  official  business  with  social  pleasure. 
This  is  an  invariable  rule  and  has  no  personal  application, 
of  course.  After  my  official  work  is  done  and  my  report 
written,  I  shall  be  happy  to  avail  myself  of  your  hospitality." 

"Just  as  you  say,  of  course,"  said  Plant,  quite  good- 
humouredly.  To  him  this  was  an  extraordinarily  shrewd, 
grand-stand  play;  and  he  approved  of  it. 

"I  shall  go  to  your  office  at  nine  to-morrow,"  Thorne 
advised  him.  "  Please  have  your  records  ready." 

"  Always  ready,"  said  Plant. 

Thorne  was  assigned  a  room  at  Auntie  Belle's,  washed 
away  the  dust  of  travel,  and  appeared  promptly  at  table 
when  the  bell  rang.  He  wore  an  ordinary  business  suit,  a 
flannel  shirt  with  white  collar,  and  hung  on  the  nail  a  wide 
felt  hat.  Nevertheless  his  general  air  was  of  an  out-of-door 
man,  competent  and  skilled  in  the  open.  His  manner  was 
self-contained  and  a  trifle  reserved,  although  he  talked 
freely  enough  with  Bob  on  a  variety  of  subjects. 

After  supper  he  retired  to  his  room,  the  door  of  which, 
however,  he  left  open.  Any  one  passing  down  the  narrow 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          261 

hallway  could  have  seen  him  bent  over  a  mass  of  papers  on 
the  table,  his  portable  typewriter  close  at  hand. 

The  following  morning,  armed  with  a  little  hand  satchel, 
he  tramped  down  to  Henry  Plant's  house.  The  Supervisor 
met  him  on  the  verandah. 

" Right  on  deck!"  he  roared  jovially.  "Come  in!  AU 
ready  for  the  doctor!" 

Thome  did  not  respond  to  this  jocosity. 

"Good  morning,"  he  said  formally,  and  that  was  all. 

Plant  led  the  way  into  his  office,  thrust  forward  a  chair, 
waved  a  comprehensive  hand  toward  the  filing  cases,  over 
the  bill  files,  at  the  tabulated  reports  laid  out  on  the  desk. 

"Go  to  it,"  said  he  cheerfully.  "Have  a  cigarl  Every- 
thing's all  ready." 

Thorne  laid  aside  his  broad  hat,  and  at  once  with  keen  con- 
centration attacked  the  tabulations.  Plant  sat  back  watch- 
ing him.  Occasionally  the  fat  man  yawned.  When  Thorne 
had  digested  the  epitome  of  the  financial  end,  he  reached  for 
the  bundles  of  documents. 

"That's  just  receipts  and  requisitions,"  said  Plant,  "and 
such  truck.  It'll  take  you  an  hour  to  wade  through  that  stuff." 

"Any  objections  10  my  doing  so?"  asked  Thorne. 

"None,"  replied  Plant  drily. 

"Now  rangers'  reports,"  requested  Thorne  at  the  end  of 
another  busy  period. 

"What,  that  flapdoodle?"  cried  Plant.  "Nobody  bothers 
much  with  that  stuff!  A  man  has  to  write  the  history  of  his 
life  every  time  he  gets  a  pail  of  water." 

"Do  I  understand  your  ranger  reports  are  remiss?" 
insisted  Thorne. 

"Lord,  there  they  are.  Wish  you  joy  of  them.  Most  of 
the  boys  have  mighty  vague  ideas  of  spelling." 

At  noon  Thorne  knocked  off,  announcing  his  return  at 
one  o'clock.  Most  inspectors  would  have  finished  an  hour 
ago.  At  the  gate  he  paused. 

"  This  place  belong  to  you  or  the  Government?"  he  asked. 


262          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

-'To  me,"  replied  Plant.  " Mighty  good  little  joint  foi 
the  mountains,  ain't  it?" 

"Why  have  you  a  United  States  Forest  Ranger  working  on 
the  fences  then?"  inquired  Thorne  crisply. 

Plant  stared  after  his  compact,  alert  figure.  The  fat 
man's  lower  jaw  had  dropped  in  astonishment.  Nobody 
had  ever  dared  question  his  right  to  use  his  own  rangers  as 
he  damn  well  pleased!  A  slow  resentment  surged  up  within 
him.  He  would  have  been  downright  angry  could  he  have 
been  certain  of  this  inspector's  attitude.  Thorne  was  cold 
and  businesslike,  but  he  had  humorous  wrinkles  at  the 
corners  of  his  eyes.  Perhaps  all  this  monkey  business  was 
one  elaborate  josh.  If  so  it  wouldn't  do  to  fall  into  the  trap 
by  getting  mad.  That  must  be  it.  Plant  chuckled  a  cavern- 
ous chuckle.  Nevertheless  he  ordered  his  ranger  to  knock 
off  fence  mending  for  the  present. 

By  two  o'clock  Thorne  pushed  back  his  chair  and  stretched 
his  arms  over  his  head.  Plant  laughed. 

"That  pretty  near  finishes  what  we  have  here,"  said  he. 
"There  really  isn't  much  to  it,  after  all.  We've  got  things 
pretty  well  going.  To-morrow  I'll  get  one  of  the  boys  to 
ride  out  with  you  near  here.  If  you  want  to  take  any  trips 
back  country,  I'll  scare  up  a  pack." 

This  was  the  usual  and  never- accepted  offer. 

"I  haven't  time  for  that,"  said  Thorne,  "but  I'll  look  at 
that  bridge  site  to-morrow." 

"When  must  you  go?" 

"In  a  couple  of  days." 

Plant's  large  countenance  showed  more  than  a  trace  of 
satisfaction. 

On  leaving  the  Supervisor's  headquarters,  Thorne  set  off 
vigorously  up  the  road.  He  felt  cramped  for  exercise,  and 
he  was  out  for  a  tramp.  Higher  and  higher  he  mounted  on 
the  road  to  the  mill,  until  at  last  he  stood  on  a  point  far  above 
the  valley,  f  he  creak  and  rattle  of  a  wagon  aroused  him 
from  his  contemplation  of  the  scene  spread  wide  before  him. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          263 

He  looked  up  to  see  a  twelve-horse  freight  team  ploughing 
toward  him  through  a  cloud  of  dust  that  arose  dense  and 
choking.  To  escape  this  dust  Thorne  deserted  the  road 
and  struck  directly  up  the  side  of  the  mountain.  A  series 
of  petty  allurements  led  him  on.  Yonder  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  tree  fungus  that  interested  him.  He  pushed  and  plunged 
through  the  manzanita  until  he  had  gained  its  level.  Once 
there  he  concluded  to  examine  a  dying  yellow  pine  farther 
up  the  hill.  Then  he  thought  to  find  a  drink  of  water  in 
the  next  hollow.  Finally  the  way  ahead  seemed  easier  than 
the  brush  behind.  He  pushed  on,  and  after  a  moment  of 
breathless  climbing  reached  the  top  of  the  ridge. 

Here  Thorne  had  reached  a  lower  spur  of  that  range  on 
which  were  located  both  the  sawmill  and  Plant's  summer 
quarters.  He  drew  a  deep  breath  and  looked  about  him 
over  the  topography  spread  below.  Then  he  examined 
with  an  expert's  eye  the  wooded  growths.  His  glance  fell 
naturally  to  the  ground. 

"Well,  I'll  be-        "  began  Thorne,  and  stopped. 

Through  the  pine  needles  at  his  feet  ran  a  shallow,  narrow 
and  meandering  trough.  A  rod  or  so  away  was  a  similar 
trough.  Thorne  set  about  following  their  direction. 

They  led  him  down  a  gentle  slope,  through  a  young  growth 
of  pines  and  cedars  to  a  small  meadow.  The  grass  had 
been  eaten  short  to  the  soil  and  trampled  by  many  little 
hoofs.  Thorne  walked  to  the  upper  end  of  the  meadow. 
Here  he  found  old  ashes.  Satisfied  with  his  discoveries,  he 
glanced  at  the  westering  sun,  and  plunged  directly  down  the 
side  of  the  mountain. 

Near  the  edge  of  the  village  he  came  upon  California  John. 
The  old  man  had  turned  Star  into  the  corral,  and  was  at 
this  moment  seated  on  a  boulder,  smoking  his  pipe,  and 
polishing  carefully  the  silver  inlay  of  his  Spanish  spade-bit. 
Thorne  stopped  and  examined  him  closely,  coming  finally 
to  the  worn  brass  ranger's  badge  pinned  to  the  old  man's 
suspenders.  California  John  did  not  cease  his  occupation. 


264          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

•"You're  a  ranger,  I  take  it,"  said  Thorne  curtly. 

California  John  looked  up  deliberately. 

"You're  an  inspector,  I  take  it,"  said  he,  after  a  moment. 

"Thorne  grinned  appreciation  under  his  close-clipped 
moustache.  This  was  the  first  time  he  had  relaxed  his  look 
of  official  concentration,  and  the  effect  was  most  boyish  and 
pleasing.  The  illumination  was  but  momentary,  however. 

"There  have  been  sheep  camped  at  a  little  meadow  on 
that  ridge,"  he  stated. 

"I  know  it,"  replied  California  John  tranquilly. 

"You  seem  to  know  several  things,"  retorted  Thorne 
crisply,  "but  your  information  seems  to  stop  short  of  the 
fact  that  you're  supposed  to  keep  sheep  out  of  the  Reserve." 

"Not  when  they  have  permission,"  said  California  John. 

" Permission  1"  echoed  Thorne.  "Sheep  are  absolutely 
prohibited  by  regulation.  What  do  you  mean?" 

"What  I  say.     They  had  a  permit." 

"Who  gave  it?" 

"Supervisor  Plant,  of  course." 

"What  for?" 

California  John  polished  his  bit  carefully  for  some  moments 
in  silence.  Then  he  laid  it  one  side  and  deliberately  faced 
about. 

"For  ten  dollars,"  said  he  coolly,  looking  Thorne  in  the 
eye. 

Thorne  looked  back  at  him  steadily. 

"You'll  swear  to  that?"  he  asked. 

"I  sure  will,"  said  California  John. 

"How  long  has  this  sort  of  thing  gone  on?" 

"Always,"  replied  the  ranger. 

"How  long  have  you  known  about  it?" 

"Always,"  said  California  John. 

"Why  have  you  never  said  anything  before?" 

"What  for?"  countered  the  old  man.  "I'd  just  get  fired. 
There  ain't  no  good  in  saying  anything.  He's  my  superior 
officer.  They  used  to  teach  me  in  the  army  that  I  ain't  got 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          265 

no  call  to  criticize  what  my  officer  does.     It's  my  job  to  obey 
orders  the  best  I  can." 

"Why  do  you  tell  me,  then?" 
"You're  my  superior  officer,  too  —  and  his." 
"So  were  all  the  other  inspectors  who  have  been  here." 
"Them  — hell!"  said  California  John. 
Thorne  returned  to  his  hotel  very  thoughtful.     It  was 
falling  dark,  and  the  preliminary  bell  had  rung  for  supper- 
Nevertheless  he  lit  his  lamp  and  clicked  off  a  letter  to  a 
personal  friend  in  the  Land  Office  requesting  the  latter  to 
forward  all  Plant's  vouchers  for  the  past  two  years.     Then 
he  hunted  up  Auntie  Belle. 

"I  thought  I  should  tell  you  that  I  won't  be  leaving  my 
room  Wednesday,  as  I  thought,"  said  he.  "My  business 
will  detain  me  longer." 


XV 

THORNE  curtly  explained  himself  to  Plant  as  detained 
on  clerical  business.  While  awaiting  the  vouchers 
from  Washington,  he  busily  gathered  the  gossip  of 
the  place.  Naturally  the  cattle  situation  was  one  of  the 
first  phases  to  come  to  his  attention.  After  listening  to 
what  was  to  be  said,  he  despatched  a  messenger  back  into 
the  mountains  requesting  the  cattlemen  to  send  a  represen- 
tative. Ordinarily  he  would  have  gone  to  the  spot  himself; 
but  just  now  he  preferred  to  remain  nearer  the  centre  of 
Plant's  activities. 

Jim  Pollock  appeared  in  due  course.  He  explained  the 
state  of  affairs  carefully  and  dispassionately.  Thome 
heard  him  to  the  end  without  comment. 

"If  the  feed  is  too  scarce  for  the  number  of  cattle,  that 
fact  should  be  officially  ascertained,"  he  said  finally. 

"Davidson  —  California  John  —  was  sent  back  last  fall 
to  look  into  it.  I  didn't  see  his  report,  but  John's  a  good 
cattleman  himself,  and  there  couldn't  be  no  two  opinions 
on  the  matter." 

Thorne  had  been  shown  no  copy  of  such  a  report  during 
his  official  inspection.  He  made  a  note  of  this. 

"Well,"  said  he  finally,  "if  on  investigation  I  find  the 
facts  to  be  as  you  state  them  —  and  that  I  can  determine 
only  on  receiving  all  the  evidence  on  both  sides  —  I  can 
promise  you  relief  for  next  season.  The  Land  Office  is  just, 
when  it  is  acquainted  with  the  facts.  I  will  ask  you  to  make 
affidavits.  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  your  trouble  in  coming." 

Jim  Pollock  made  his  three-day  ride  back  more  cheered 
by  these  few  and  tentative  words  than  by  Superintendent 

266 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          267 

Smith's  effusive  assurances,  or  Plant's  promises.  He  so 
reported  to  his  neighbours  in  the  back  ranges. 

Thorne  established  from  California  John  the  truth  as  to 
the  suppressed  reports. 

Some  rumour  of  all  this  reached  Henry  Plant.  Whatever 
his  faults,  the  Supervisor  was  no  coward.  He  had  always 
bulled  things  through  by  sheer  weight  and  courage.  If  he 
could  outroar  his  opponent,  he  always  considered  the  victory 
as  his.  Certainly  the  results  were  generally  that  way. 

On  hearing  of  Thome's  activities,  Plant  drove  down  to 
see  him.  He  puffed  along  the  passageway  to  Thome's  room. 
The  Inspector  was  pecking  away  at  his  portable  typewriter 
and  did  not  look  up  as  the  fat  man  entered. 

Plant  surveyed  the  bent  back  for  a  moment. 

"Look  here/'  he  demanded,  "I  hear  you're  still  investi- 
gating my  district  —  as  well  as  doing  'clerical  work.' ' 

"I  am,1'  snapped  Thorne  without  turning  his  head. 

"  Am  I  to  consider  myself  under  investigation  ?  "  demanded 
Plant  truculently.  To  this  direct  question  he,  of  course, 
expected  a  denial  —  a  denial  which  he  would  proceed  to 
demolish  with  threats  and  abuse. 

"You  are,"  said  Thorne,  reaching  for  a  fresh  sheet  of 
paper. 

Plant  stared  at  him  a  moment;  then  went  out.  Next 
day  he  drove  away  on  the  stage,  and  was  no  more  seen  for 
several  weeks. 

This  did  not  trouble  Thorne.  He  began  to  reach  in  all 
directions  for  evidence.  At  first  there  came  to  him  only 
those  like  the  Pollock  boys  who  were  openly  at  outs  with 
Plant,  and  so  had  nothing  to  lose  by  antagonizing  him  fur- 
ther. Then,  hesitating,  appeared  others.  Many  of  these 
grievances  Thorne  found  to  be  imaginary;  but  in  several 
cases  he  was  able  to  elicit  definite  affidavits  as  to  graft  and 
irregularity.  Evidence  of  bribery  was  more  difficult  to 
obtain.  Plant's  easy-going  ways  had  made  him  friends,  and 
his  facile  suspension  of  grazing  regulations  —  for  a  con- 


268          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

sideration  —  appealed  strongly  to  self-interest.  However, 
as  always  in  such  cases,  enough  had  at  some  time  felt  them- 
selves discriminated  against  to  entertain  resentment.  Thorne 
tooK  advantage  of  this  both  to  get  evidence,  and  to  secure 
information  that  enabled  him  to  frighten  evidence  out  of 
others. 

The  vouchers  arrived  from  Washington.  In  them  Plant's 
methods  showed  clearly.  Thorne  early  learned  that  it  had 
been  the  Supervisor's  habit  to  obtain  duplicate  bills  for 
everything  —  purchases,  livery,  hotels  and  the  like.  He  had 
explained  to  the  creditors  that  a  copy  would  be  necessary  for 
riling,  and  of  course  the  mountain  people  knew  no  better. 
Thus,  by  a  trifling  manipulation  of  dates,  Plant  had  been 
able  to  collect  twice  over  for  his  expenses. 

"There  is  the  plumb  limit,"  said  Martin,  while  running 
over  the  vouchers  he  had  given.  He  showed  Thorne  two 
bearing  the  same  date.  One  read: 

"  To  team  and  driver  to  Big  Baldy  post  office,  $4." 

"That  item's  all  right,"  said  Martin;  "I  drove  him  there 
myself.  But  here's  the  joke." 

He  handed  the  second  bill  to  Thorne: 

"  To  saddle  horse  Big  Baldy  to  McClintock  claim,  $2." 

"Why,"  said  Martin,  "when  we  got  to  Big  Baldy  he  put 
his  saddle  on  one  of  the  driving  horses  and  rode  it  about 
a  mile  over  to  McClintock's.  I  remember  objecting  on 
account  of  his  being  so  heavy.  Say,"  reflected  the  livery- 
man after  a  moment,  "he's  right  out  for  the  little  stuff, 
ain't  he?  When  his  hand  gets  near  a  dollar,  it  cramps!" 

In  the  sheaf  of  vouchers  Thorne  ran  across  one  item 
repeated  several  hundred  times  in  the  two  years.  It  read: 

"To  M.Aiken,  team,  $3." 

Inquiry  disclosed  the  fact  that  "M.  Aiken,"  was  Minnie, 
Plant's  niece.  By  the  simple  expedient  of  conveying  to  her 
title  in  his  team  and  buckboard,  the  Supervisor  was  enabled 
to  collect  three  dollars  every  time  he  drove  anywhere. 

Thus   the   case    grew,   fortified    by    affidavits.     Thorne 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          269 

found  that  Plant  had  been  grafting  between  three  and  four 
thousand  dollars  a  year. 

Of  course  the  whole  community  soon  came  to  know  all 
about  it.  The  taking  of  testimony  and  the  giving  of 
affidavits  were  matters  for  daily  discussion.  Thorne 
inspired  faith,  because  he  had  faith  himself. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  people  have  been  hostile  to  the 
Forest  Reserves,"  said  he.  "You  can't  be  blamed.  But 
it  is  not  the  Office's  fault.  I've  been  in  the  Land  Office  a 
great  many  years,  and  they  won't  stand  for  this  sort  of  thing 
a  minute.  I  found  very  much  the  same  sort  of  thing  in  one 
of  the  reserves  in  Oregon,  only  there  was  a  gang  operating 
there.  I  got  eleven  convictions,  and  a  new  deal  ail  round. 
The  Land  Office  is  all  right,  when  you  get  to  it.  You'll  see 
us  in  a  different  light,  after  this  is  over." 

The  mountaineers  liked  him.  He  showed  them  a  new 
kink  by  which  the  lash  rope  of  a  pack  could  be  jammed  in 
the  cinch-hook  for  convenience  of  the  lone  packer;  he  proved 
to  be  an  excellent  shot  with  the  revolver;  in  his  official  work 
he  had  used  and  tested  the  methods  of  many  wilderness 
travellers,  and  could  discuss  and  demonstrate.  Further- 
more, he  got  results. 

Austin  conducted  a  roadhouse  on  the  way  to  the  Power 
House  Number  One:  this  in  addition  to  his  saloon  in  Syca- 
more Flats.  The  roadhouse  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  on 
government  land,  but  Austin  established  the  shadow  of  a 
claim  under  mineral  regulations,  and,  by  obstructionist 
tactics,  had  prevented  all  the  red  tape  from  being  unwound. 
His  mineral  claim  was  flimsy;  he  knew  it,  and  everybody 
else  knew  it.  But  until  the  case  should  be  reported  back, 
he  remained  where  he  was.  It  was  up  to  Plant;  and  Plant 
had  been  lenient.  Probably  Austin  could  have  told  why. 

Thorne  became  cognizant  of  all  this.  He  served  Austin 
notice.  Austin  offered  no  comment,  but  sat  tight.  He 
knew  by  previous  experience  that  the  necessary  reports, 
recommendations,  endorsements  and  official  orders  would 


270          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

take  anywhere  from  one  to  three  months.  By  that  time  this 
inspector  would  have  moved  on  —  Austin  knew  the  game. 
But  three  days  later  Thorne  showed  up  early  in  the  morning 
followed  by  a  half-dozen  interested  rangers.  In  the  most 
business-like  fashion  and  despite  the  variegated  objections  of 
Austin  and  his  disreputable  satellites,  Thorne  and  his  men 
attached  their  ropes  to  the  flimsy  structure  and  literally 
pulled  it  to  pieces  from  the  saddle. 

"You  have  no  right  to  use  force!"  cried  Austin,  who  was 
well  versed  in  the  regulations. 

"  I've  saved  my  office  a  great  deal  of  clerical  work,"  Thorne 
snapped  back  at  him.  "Report  me  if  you  feel  like  it!" 

The  debris  remained  where  it  had  fallen.  Austin  did  not 
venture  again  —  at  least  while  this  energetic  youth  was  on 
the  scene.  Nevertheless,  after  the  first  anger,  even  the  saloon- 
keeper had  in  a  way  his  good  word  to  say. 

"If  they's  anythin'  worse  than  a  —  of  a  —  comes  out  in 
the  next  fifty  year,  he'll  be  it!"  stormed  Austin.  "But, 
damn  it,"  he  added,  "the  little  devil's  worse'n  a  cata- 
mount for  fight!" 

Thorne  was  little  communicative,  but  after  he  and  Bob 
became  better  acquainted  the  Inspector  would  tell  something 
of  his  past  inspections.  AJl  up  and  down  the  Sierras  he 
had  unearthed  enough  petty  fraud  and  inefficiency  to  send 
a  half-dozen  men  to  jail  and  to  break  another  half-dozen 
from  the  ranks. 

"And  the  Office  has  upheld  me  right  along,"  said  Thorne 
in  answer  to  Bob's  scepticism  regarding  government  sincerity. 
"The  Office  is  all  right;  don't  make  any  mistake  on  that. 
It's  just  a  question  of  getting  at  it.  I  admit  the  system  is  all 
wrong,  where  the  complaints  can't  get  direct  to  the  chiefs; 
but  that's  what  I'm  here  for.  This  Plant  is  one  of  the 
easiest  cases  I've  tackled  yet.  I've  got  direct  evidence  six 
times  over  to  put  him  over  the  road.  He'll  go  behind  the 
bars  sure.  As  for  the  cattle  situation,  it's  a  crying  disgrace 
and  a  shame.  There's  no  earthly  reason  under  the  regula- 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          271 

tions  why  Simeon  Wright  should  bring  cattle  in  at  all;  and 
I'll  see  that  next  year  he  doesn't." 

At  the  end  of  two  weeks  Thorne  had  finished  his  work 
and  departed.  The  mountain  people  with  whom  he  had 
come  in  contact  liked  and  trusted  him  in  spite  of  his  brusque 
and  business-like  manners.  He  could  shoot,  pack  a 
horse,  ride  and  follow  trail,  swing  an  axe  as  well  as  any  of 
them.  He  knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  He  was  square. 
The  mountain  men  "happened  around"  — such  of  them  as 
were  not  in  back  with  the  cattle  —  to  wish  him  farewell. 

"Good-bye,  boys,"  said  he.  "You'll  see  me  again.  I'm 
glad  to  have  had  a  chance  to  straighten  things  out  a  little. 
Don't  lose  faith  in  Uncle  Sam.  He'll  do  well  by  you  when 
you  attract  his  attention." 

Fully  a  week  after  his  departure  Plant  returned  and  took 
his  accustomed  place  in  the  community.  He  surveyed  his  old 
constituents  with  a  slightly  sardonic  eye,  but  had  little  to  say. 

About  this  time  Bob  moved  up  on  the  mountain.  He 
breathed  in  a  distinct  pleasure  over  again  finding  himself 
among  the  pines,  in  the  cool  air,  with  the  clean,  aromatic 
woods-work.  The  Meadow  Lake  was  completely  sur- 
rounded by  camps  this  year.  Several  canvas  boats  were 
on  the  lake.  Bob  even  welcomed  the  raucous  and  confused 
notes  of  several  phonographs  going  at  full  speed.  After 
the  heat  and  dust  and  brown  of  the  lower  hills,  this  high 
country  was  inexpressibly  grateful. 

At  headquarters  he  found  Welton  rolling  about,  jovial, 
good-natured,  efficient  as  ever.  With  him  was  Baker. 

"Well,"  said  Bob  to  the  latter.  "Where  did  you  get  by 
me?  I  didn't  know  you  were  here." 

"  Oh,  I  blew  in  the  other  day.  Didn't  have  time  to  stop 
below;  and,  besides,  I  was  saving  my  strength  for  your 
partner  here."  He  looked  at  Welton  ruefully.  "I  thought 
I'd  come  up  and  get  that  water-rights  matter  all  fixed  up 
in  a  few  minutes,  and  get  back  to  supper.  Nothing  doing!" 

"This  smooth-faced  pirate,' '  explained  Welton,  "offers 


272          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

to  take  our  water  if  we'll  pay  him  for  doing  it,  as  near  as  I 
can  make  out  —  that  is,  if  we'll  supply  the  machinery  to  do 
it  with.  In  return  he'll  allow  us  the  privilege  of  buying  back 
what  we  are  going  to  need  for  household  purposes.  I  tell  him 
this  is  too  liberal.  We  cannot  permit  him  to  rob  himself. 
Since  he  has  known  our  esteemed  fellow-citizen,  Mr.  Plant, 
he's  falling  into  that  gentleman's  liberal  views." 

Baker  grinned  at  his  accusor  appreciatively,  but  at  the 
mention  of  Plant's  name  Bob  broke  in. 

"Plant's  landed,"  said  he  briefly.  "They've  got  him. 
Prison  bars  for  his." 

"What?"  cried  Welton  and  Baker  in  a  breath. 

Bob  explained;  telling  them  of  Thorne,  his  record, 
methods,  and  the  definite  evidence  he  had  acquired.  Long 
before  he  had  finished  both  men  relaxed  from  their  more 
eager  attention. 

"That  all?"  commented  Baker.  "From  what  you  said 
I  thought  he  was  in  the  bastile!" 

"He  will  be  shortly,"  said  Bob.  "They've  got  the  evi- 
dence direct.  It's  an  open-and-shut  case." 

Baker  merely  grinned. 

"But  Thome's  jugged  them  all  up  the  range,"  persisted 
Bob.  "He's  convicted  a  whole  lot  of  them  —  men  who 
have  been  at  it  for  years." 

"H'm,"   said  Baker. 

"But  how  can  they  dodge  it?"  cried  Bob.  "They  can't 
deny  the  evidence!  The  Department  has  upheld  Thorne 
warmly." 

"Sure,"  said  Baker. 

"Well,"  concluded  Bob.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
they'll  have  the  nerve  to  pass  over  such  direct  evidence  as 
that?" 

"Don't  know  anything  about  it,"  replied  Baker  briefly. 
"I  only  know  results  when  I  see  them.  These  other  little 
grafters  that  your  man  Thorne  has  bumped  off  probably 
haven't  any  drag." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          273 

"Well,  what  does  Plant  amount  to  once  he's  exposed?" 
challenged  Bob. 

"I  haven't  figured  it  out  on  the  Scribner  scale,"  admitted 
Baker,  "but  I  know  what  happens  when  you  try  to  bump 
him.  Bet  you  a  thousand  dollars  I  do,"  he  shot  at  Welton. 
"It  isn't  the  wraith-like  Plant  you  run  up  against;  it's 
interests" 

"Well,  I  don't  believe  yet  a  great  government  will  keep 
in  a  miserable,  petty  thief  like  Plant  against  the  direct  evi- 
dence of  a  man  like  Thorne!"  stated  Bob  with  some  heat. 

"Listen,"  said  Baker  kindly.  "That  isn't  the  scrap. 
Thorne  vs.  Plant  —  looks  like  easy  money  on  Thorne,  eh  ? 
Well,  now,  Plant  has  a  drag  with  Chairman  Gay;  don't  know 
what  if  is,  but  it's  a  good  one,  a  peacherino.  We  know 
because  we've  trained  some  heavy  guns  on  it  ourselves,  and 
it's  stood  the  shock.  All  right.  Now  it's  up  to  Chairman 
Gay  to  support  his  cousin.  Then  there's  old  Simeon  Wright. 
Where  would  he  get  off  at  without  Plant?  He's  going  to  do 
a  little  missionary  work.  Simeon  owns  Senator  Barrow, 
and  Senator  Barrow  is  on  the  Ways  and  Means  Committee, 
so  lots  of  people  love  the  Senator.  And  so  on  in  all  direc- 
tions —  I'm  from  Missouri.  You  got  to  show  me.  If  it 
came  to  a  mere  choice  of  turning  down  Plant  or  Thorne, 
they'd  turn  down  Plant,  every  time.  But  when  it  comes 
to  a  choice  between  Thorne  and  Gay,  Thorne  and  Barrow, 
Thorne  and  Simeon  Wright,  Thorne  and  a  dozen  others  that 
have  their  own  Angel  Children  to  protect,  and  won't  protect 
your  Angel  Child  unless  you'll  chuck  a  front  for  theirs  — 
why  Thorne  is  just  lost  in  the  crowd ! " 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  protested  Bob.  "It  would  be  a 
scandal." 

"No,  just  politics,"  said  Baker. 


XVI 

THE  sawmill  lay  on  the  direct  trail  to  the  back  country. 
Every  man  headed  for  the  big  mountains  by  way  of 
Sycamore  Flats  passed  fairly   through    the    settle- 
ment itself.     So  every  cattleman  out  after  provisions    or 
stock  salt,  followed  by  his  docile  string  of  pack  mules,  paused 
to  swap  news  and  gossip  with  whoever  happened  for  the 
moment  to  have  leisure  for  such  an  exchange. 

The  variety  poured  through  this  funnel  of  the  mountains 
comprised  all  classes.  Professional  prospectors  with  their 
burros,  ready  alike  for  the  desert  or  the  most  inaccessible 
crags,  were  followed  by  a  troupe  of  college  boys  afoot  lead- 
ing one  or  two  old  mares  as  baggage  transportation.  The 
business-like,  semi-military  outfits  of  geological  survey 
parties,  the  worn  but  substantial  hunters'  equipments,  the 
marvellous  and  oftentimes  ridiculous  luxury  affected  by  the 
wealthy  camper,  the  makeshifts  of  the  poorer  ranchmen 
of  the  valley,  out  with  their  entire  families  and  the  farm 
stock  for  a  "real  good  fish,"  all  these  were  of  never-failing 
interest  to  Bob.  In  fact,  he  soon  discovered  that  the  one 
absorbing  topic  —  outside  of  bears,  of  course  —  was  the 
discussion,  the  comparison  and  the  appraising  of  the  vari- 
ous items  of  camping  equipment.  He  also  found  each  man 
amusingly  partisan  for  his  own.  There  were  schools  advo- 
cating —  heatedly  —  the  merits  respectively  of  the  single 
or  double  cinch,  of  the  Dutch  oven  or  the  reflector,  of  raw- 
hide or  canvas  kyacks,  of  sleeping  bags  or  blankets. 
Each  man  had  invented  some  little  kink  of  his  own  without 
which  he  could  not  possibly  exist.  Some  of  these  kinks 
were  very  handy  and  deserved  universal  adoption,  such  as 

274 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          275 

a  small  rubber  tube  with  a  flattened  brass  nozzle  with  which 
to  encourage  reluctant  fires.  Others  expressed  an  individ- 
ual idiosyncrasy  only;  as  in  the  case  of  the  man  who  carried 
clothes  hooks  to  screw  into  the  trees.  A  man's  method  of 
packing  was  also  closely  watched.  Each  had  his  own 
favourite  hitch.  The  strong  preponderance  seemed  to  be 
in  favour  of  the  Diamond,  both  single  and  double,  but  many 
proved  strongly  addicted  to  the  Lone  Packer,  or  the  Basco, 
or  the  Miners',  or  the  Square,  or  even  the  generally  despised 
Squaw,  and  would  stoutly  defend  their  choices,  and  give 
reasons  therefore.  Bob  sometimes  amused  himself  prac- 
tising these  hitches  in  miniature  by  means  of  a  string,  a 
bent  nail,  and  two  folded  handkerchiefs  as  packs.  After 
many  trials,  and  many  lapses  of  memory,  he  succeeded  on 
all  but  the  Double  Diamond.  Although  apparently  he 
followed  every  move,  the  result  was  never  that  beautiful 
all-over  tightening  at  the  last  pull.  He  reluctantly  con- 
cluded that  on  this  point  he  must  have  instruction. 

Although  rarely  a  day  went  by  during  the  whole  season 
that  one  or  more  parties  did  not  pass  through,  or  camp  over 
night  at  the  Meadow  Lake,  it  was  a  fact  that,  after  passing 
Baldy,  these  hundreds  could  scatter  so  far  through  the 
labyrinth  of  the  Sierras  that  in  a  whole  summer's  journeying 
they  were  extremely  unlikely  to  see  each  other  —  or  indeed 
any  one  else,  save  when  they  stumbled  on  one  of  the  estab- 
lished cow  camps.  The  vastness  of  the  California  mountains 
cannot  be  conveyed  to  one  who  has  not  travelled  them. 
Men  have  all  summer  pastured  illegally  thousands  of  head 
of  sheep  undiscovered,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  rangers  and 
soldiers  were  out  looking  for  them.  One  may  journey 
diligently  throughout  the  season,  and  cover  but  one  corner 
of  the  three  great  maps  that  depict  about  one-half  of  them. 
If  one  wills  he  can,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  become  sole 
and  undisputed  master  of  kingdoms  in  extent.  He  can 
occupy  beautiful  valleys  miles  long,  guarded  by  cliffs  rising 
thousands  of  feet,  threaded  by  fish-haunted  streams,  spangled 


276          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

with  fair,  flower-grown  lawns,  cool  with  groves  of  trees, 
neck  high  in  rich  feed.  Unless  by  sheer  chance,  no  one 
will  disturb  his  solitude.  Of  course  he  must  work  for  his 
kingdom.  He  must  press  on  past  the  easy  travel,  past  the 
wide  cattle  country  of  the  middle  elevations,  into  the  splint- 
ered, frowning  granite  and  snow,  over  the  shoulders  of  the 
mighty  peaks  of  the  High  Sierras.  Nevertheless,  the  reward 
AS  sure  for  the  hardy  voyager. 

Most  men,  however,  elect  to  spend  their  time  in  the  eas- 
ier middle  ground.  There  the  elevations  run  up  to  nine 
or  ten  thousand  feet;  the  trails  are  fairly  well  denned  and 
travelled;  the  streams  are  full  of  fish;  meadows  are  in 
every  moist  pocket;  the  great  box  canons  and  peaks  of  the 
spur  ranges  offer  the  grandeur  of  real  mountain  scenery. 

From  these  men,  as  they  ended  their  journeys  on  the  way 
out,  came  tales  and  rumours.  There  was  no  doubt  what- 
ever that  the  country  had  too  many  cattle  in  it.  That  was 
brought  home  to  each  and  every  man  by  the  scarcity  of  horse 
feed  on  meadows  where  usually  an  abundance  for  everybody 
was  to  be  expected.  The  cattle  were  thin  and  restless.  It 
was  unsafe  to  leave  a  camp  unprotected;  the  half -wild  ani- 
mals trampled  everything  into  the  ground.  The  cattlemen, 
of  whatever  camp,  appeared  sullen  and  suspicious  of  every 
comer. 

"It's  mighty  close  to  a  cattle  war,"  said  one  old  lean  and 
leathery  individual  to  Bob;  "I  know,  for  I  been  thar.  Used 
to  run  cows  in  Montana.  I  hear  everywhar  talk  about 
Wright's  cattle  dyin'  in  mighty  funny  ways.  I  know  that's 
so,  for  I  seen  a  slather  of  dead  cows  myself.  Some  of  'em 
fall  off  cliffs;  some  seem  to  have  broke  their  legs.  Some 
bogged  down.  Some  look  like  to  have  just  laid  down  and 
died." 

"Well,  if  they're  weak  from  loss  of  feed,  isn't  that  nat- 
ural?" asked  Bob. 

"Wall,"  said  the  old  cowman,  "in  the  first  place,  they're 
pore,  but  they  ain't  by  no  means  weak.  But  the  strange 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  277 

part  is  that  these  yere  accidents  always  happens  to  Wright's 
cattle." 

He  laughed  and  added: 

"The  carcasses  is  always  so  chawed  up  by  b'ar  and  coyote 
-  or  at  least  that's  what  they  say  done  it  —  that  you  can't 
sw'ar  as  to  how  they  did  come  to  die.  But  I  heard  one 
funny  thing.  It  was  over  at  the  Pollock  boys'  camp. 
Shelby,  Wright's  straw  boss,  come  ridin'  in  pretty  mad,  and 
made  a  talk  about  how  it's  mighty  cur'ous  only  Wright's 
cattle  is  dyin'. 

"'It  shorely  looks  like  the  country  is  unhealthy  for 
plains  cattle,'  says  George  Pollock;  'ours  is  brought  up  in 
the  hills.' 

"'Well,'  says  Shelby,  'if  I  ever  comes  on  one  of  these  acci- 
dents a-happenin',  I'll  shore  make  some  one  hard  to  catch!' 

'"Some  one's  likely  one  of  these  times  to  make  you 
almighty  easy  to  catch!'  says  George. 

"Now,"  concluded  the  old  cattleman,  "folks  don't  make 
them  bluffs  for  the  sake  of  talkin'  at  a  mark  —  not  in  this 
country." 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  that  prediction,  the  summer 
passed  without  any  personal  clash.  The  cattle  came  out 
from  the  mountains  rather  earlier  than  usual,  gaunt,  wiry, 
active.  They  were  in  fine  shape,  as  far  as  health  was  con- 
cerned; but  absolutely  unfit,  as  they  then  stood,  for  beef. 
The  Simeon  Wright  herds  were  first,  thousands  of  them,  in 
charge  of  many  cowboys  and  dogs.  The  punchers  were  a 
reckless,  joyous  crew,  skylarking  in  anticipation  of  the  towns 
of  the  plains.  They  kissed  their  hands  and  waved  their 
hats  at  all  women,  old  and  young,  in  the  mill  settlement; 
they  played  pranks  on  each  other;  they  charged  here  and 
there  on  their  wiry  ponies,  whirling  to  right  and  left,  '  turn- 
ing on  a  ten-cent  piece/  throwing  their  animals  from  full 
speed  to  a  stand,  indulging  in  the  cowboys'  spectacular 
'flash  riding'  for  the  sheer  joy  of  it.  The  leading  cattle, 
eager  with  that  strange  instinct  that,  even  early  in  the  fall, 


278          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

calls  all  ruminants  from  good  mountain  feed  to  the  brown 
lower  country,  pressed  forward,  their  necks  outstretched, 
their  eyes  fixed  on  some  distant  vision.  Their  calls  blended 
into  an  organ  note.  Occasionally  they  broke  into  a  little 
trot.  At  such  times  the  dogs  ran  forward,  yelping,  to  turn 
them  back  into  their  appointed  way.  At  an  especially  bad 
break  to  right  or  left  one  or  more  of  the  men  would  dash  to 
the  aid  of  the  dogs,  riding  with  a  splendid  recklessness  through 
the  timber,  over  fallen  trees,  ditches,  rocks,  boulders  and 
precipitous  hills.  The  dust  rose  chokingly.  At  the  rear 
of  the  long  procession  plodded  the  old,  the  infirm,  the  crip- 
ples and  the  young  calves.  Three  or  four  men  rode  compactly 
behind  this  rear  guard,  urging  it  to  keep  up.  Their  means 
of  persuasion  were  varied.  Quirts,  ropes,  rattles  made  of 
tin  cans  and  pebbles,  strong  language  were  all  used  in  turn 
and  simultaneously.  Long  after  the  multitude  had  passed, 
the  vast  and  composite  voice  of  it  reechoed  through  the  for- 
est ;  the  dust  eddied  and  swirled  among  the  trees. 

The  mountain  men's  cattle,  on  the  other  hand,  came  out 
sullenly,  in  herds  of  a  few  hundred  head.  There  was  more 
barking  of  dogs ;  more  scurrying  to  and  fro  of  mounted  men, 
for  small  bands  are  more  difficult  to  drive  than  large  ones. 
There  were  no  songs,  no  boisterous  high  spirits,  no  flash 
riding.  In  contrast  to  the  plains  cowboys,  even  the 
herders'  appearance  was  poor.  They  wore  blue  jeans 
overalls,  short  jeans  jumpers,  hats  floppy  and  all  but  dis- 
integrated by  age  and  exposure  to  the  elements.  Wright's 
men,  being  nothing  but  cowboys,  without  other  profession, 
ties  or  interests,  gave  more  attention  to  details  of  profes- 
sional equipment.  Their  wide  hats  were  straight  of  brim  and 
generally  encircled  by  a  leather  or  hair  or  snakeskin  band; 
their  shirts  were  loose;  they  wore  handkerchiefs  around 
their  necks,  and  oiled  leather  "chaps"  on  their  legs.  Their 
distinguishing  and  especial  mark,  however,  was  their  boots. 
These  were  made  of  soft  leather,  were  elaborately  stitched 
or  embroidered  in  patterns,  possessed  exaggeratedly  wide 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          279 

and  long  straps  like  a  spaniel's  ears,  and  were  mounted  on 
thin  soles  and  very  high  heels.  They  were  footwear  such 
as  no  mountain  man,  nor  indeed  any  man  who  might  ever 
be  required  to  go  a  mile  afoot,  would  think  of  wearing. 
The  little  herds  trudged  down  the  mountains.  While  the 
plainsmen  anticipated  easy  duty,  the  pleasures  of  the  town, 
fenced  cattle  growing  fat  on  alfalfa  raised  during  the  sum- 
mer by  irrigation,  these  sober-faced  mountaineers  looked 
forward  to  a  winter  range  much  depleted,  a  market  closed 
against  such  wiry,  active  animals  as  they  herded,  and  an 
impossibility  of  rounding  into  shape  for  sale  any  but  a 
few  old  cows. 

"If  it  wasn't  for  this  new  shake-up,"  said  Jim  Pollock, 
;<I'd  shore  be  gettin'  discouraged.  But  if  they  keep  out 
Simeon  Wright's  cattle  this  spring,  we'll  be  all  right.  It's 
cost  us  money,  though." 

"A  man  with  a  wife  and  child  can't  afford  to  lose  money/' 
said  George  Pollock. 

Jim  laughed. 

"You  and  your  new  kid!"  he  mocked.  "No,  I  suppose 
ne  can't.  Neither  can  a  man  with  a  wife  and  six  children. 
But  I  reckon  we'll  be  all  right  as  long  as  there's  a  place  to 
crawl  under  when  it  rains." 


XVII 

THE  autumn  passed,  and  winter  closed  down.  Plant 
continued  his  administration.  For  a  month  the 
countryside  was  on  a  tip-toe  of  expectation.  It 
counted  on  no  immediate  results,  but  the  "  suspension  pend- 
ing investigation"  was  to  take  place  within  a  few  weeks. 
As  far  as  surface  indications  were  concerned  nothing 
happened.  Expectation  was  turned  back  on  itself.  Abso- 
lute confidence  in  Plant's  removal  and  criminal  conviction 
gave  place  to  scepticism  and  doubt,  finally  to  utter  disbelief. 
And  since  Thorne  had  succeeded  in  arousing  a  real  faith 
and  enthusiasm,  the  reaction  was  by  so  much  the  stronger. 
Tolerance  gave  way  to  antagonism;  distrust  to  bitterness; 
grievance  to  open  hostility.  The  Forest  Reserves  were 
cursed  as  a  vicious  institution  created  for  the  benefit  of  the 
rich  man,  depriving  the  poor  man  of  his  rights  and  privi- 
leges, imposing  on  him  regulations  that  were  at  once  galling 
and  senseless. 

The  Forest  Rangers  suddenly  found  themselves  openly 
unpopular.  Heretofore  a  ranger  had  been  tolerated  by 
the  mountaineers  as  either  a  good-for-nothing  saloon  loafer 
enjoying  the  fats  of  political  perquisite;  or  as  a  species  of 
inunderstandable  fanatic  to  be  looked  down  upon  with  good- 
humoured  contempt.  Now  a  ranger  became  a  partisan 
of  the  opposing  forces,  and  as  such  an  enemy.  Men  ceased 
speaking  to  him,  or  greeted  him  with  the  curtest  of 
nods.  Plant's  men  were  ostracized  in  every  way,  once  they 
showed  themselves  obstinate  in  holding  to  their  positions. 
Every  man  was  urged  to  resign.  Many  did  so.  Others 
hung  on  because  the  job  was  too  soft  to  lose.  Some, 

280 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  281 

like  Ross  Fletcher,  California  John,  Tom  Carroll,  Charley 
Morton  and  a  few  others,  moved  on  their  accustomed 
way. 

One  of  the  inspiring  things  in  the  later  history  of  the  great 
West  is  the  faith  and  insight,  the  devotion  and  self-sacrifice 
of  some  of  the  rough  mountain  men  in  some  few  of  the 
badly  managed  reserves  to  truths  that  were  but  slowly 
being  recognized  by  even  the  better  educated  of  the  East. 
These  men,  year  after  year,  without  leadership,  without 
encouragement,  without  the  support  and  generally  against  the 
covered  or  open  hostility  of  their  neighbours,  under  most 
disheartening  official  conditions  kept  the  torch  alight.  They 
had  no  wide  theory  of  forestry  to  sustain  their  interest;  they 
could  certainly  have  little  hope  of  promotion  and  advance- 
ment to  a  real  career;  their  experience  with  a  bureaucratic 
government  could  not  arouse  in  their  breasts  any  expec- 
tation of  a  broad,  a  liberal,  or  even  an  enlightened  policy  of 
conservation  or  use.  They  were  set  in  opposition  to  their 
neighbours  without  receiving  the  support  of  the  power  that 
so  placed  them.  Nevertheless,  according  to  their  knowledge 
they  worked  faithfully.  Five  times  out  of  ten  they  had 
little  either  of  supervision  or  instruction.  Turned  out  in 
the  mountains,  like  a  bunch  of  stock,  each  was  free  to  do 
as  much  or  as  little  of  whatever  he  pleased.  Each  improved 
his  district  according  to  his  ideas  or  his  interests.  One  cared 
most  for  building  trails;  another  for  chasing  sheep  trespas- 
sers; a  third  for  construction  of  bridges,  cabins  and  fences. 
All  had  occasionally  to  fight  fires.  Each  was  given  the 
inestimable  privilege  of  doing  what  he  could.  Everything 
he  did  had  to  be  reported  on  enormous  and  complicated 
forms.  If  he  made  a  mistake  in  any  of  these,  he  heard 
from  it,  and  perhaps  his  pay  was  held  up.  This  pay  ran 
somewhere  about  sixty  or  seventy-five  dollars  a  month,  and 
he  was  required  to  supply  his  own  horses  and  to  feed 
them.  Most  rangers  who  were  really  interested  in  their 
profession  spent  some  of  this  in  buying  tools  with  which 


282          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

to  work.*  The  Government  supplied  next  to  nothing.  In 
1902  between  the  King's  River  and  the  Kaweah,  an  area  of 
somewhere  near  a  million  acres,  the  complete  inventory  of 
fire- fighting  tools  consisted  of  two  rakes  made  from  fifty 
cents'  worth  of  twenty-penny  nails. 

But  these  negative  discouragements  were  as  nothing  com- 
pared to  the  petty  rebuffs  and  rulings  that  emanated  from 
the  Land  Office  itself. 

One  spring  Ross  Fletcher,  following  specific  orders,  was 
sent  out  after  twenty  thousand  trespassing  sheep.  It  was 
early  in  the  season.  His  instructions  took  him  up  into  the 
frozen  meadows,  so  he  had  to  carry  barley  for  his  horses. 
He  used  three  sacks  and  sent  in  a  bill  for  one.  Item  refused. 
Feed  was  twenty  dollars  a  thousand.  Salary  seventy-five 
dollars. 

One  of  Simeon  Wright's  foremen  broke  down  govern- 
ment fences  and  fed  out  all  the  ranger  horse  feed.  Tom 
Carroll  wrote  to  Superintendent  Smith;  later  to  Washington. 
The  authorities,  however,  refused  to  revoke  the  cattleman's 
licence.  At  Christmas  time,  when  Carroll  was  inWhite  Oaks 
the  foreman  and  his  two  sons  jeered  at  and  insulted  the 
ranger  in  regard  to  this  matter  until  the  latter  lost  his  temper 
and  thrashed  all  three,  one  after  the  other.  For  this  he  was 
severely  reprimanded  by  Washington. 

Charley  Morton  was  ordered  to  Yosemite  to  consult  with 
the  military  officers  there.  He  was  instructed  to  do  so  in 
a  certain  number  of  days.  To  keep  inside  his  time  limit 
he  had  to  hire  a  team.  Item  refused. 

California  John  fought  fire  alone  for  two  days  and  a  night, 
then  had  to  go  outside  for  help.  Docked  a  day  for  going 
off  the  reserve. 

Why  did  these  men  prefer  to  endure  neglect  and  open 
hostility  to  the  favour  of  their  neighbours  and  easier  work  ? 
Bob,  with  a  growing  wonder  and  respect,  tried  to  find  out. 

*The  accounts  of  one  man  showed  that  for  a  long  period  he  had  so  disbursed  from  his  own 
pocket  an  average  of  thirty  dollars  a  month.    His  salary  was  sixty  dollars. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  283 

He  did  not  succeed.  There  certainly  was  no  overwhelming 
love  for  the  administration  of  Henry  Plant;  nor  loyalty  to  the 
Land  Office.  Indeed  for  the  latter,  one  and  all  entertained  the 
deep  contempt  of  the  out-of-door  man  for  the  red-tape  clerk. 

"What  do  you  think  is  the  latest,"  asked  California 
John  one  day,  "from  them  little  squirts?  I  just  got  instruc- 
tions that  during  of  the  fire  season  I  must  patrol  the  whole 
of  my  district  every  dayi"  The  old  man  grinned.  "I  only 
got  from  here  to  Pumice  Mountain !  I  wonder  if  those  fellows 
ever  saw  a  mountain?  I  suppose  they  laid  off  an  inch  on 
the  map  and  let  it  go  at  that.  Patrol  every  day ! " 

"How  long  would  it  take  you?"  asked  Bob. 

"By  riding  hard,  about  a  week." 

Rather  the  loyalty  seemed  to  be  gropingly  to  the  idea  back 
of  it  all,  to  something  broad  and  dim  and  beautiful  which 
these  rough,  untutored  men  had  drawn  from  their  native 
mountains  and  which  thus  they  rendered  back. 

As  Bob  gradually  came  to  understand  more  of  the  situation 
his  curiosity  grew.  The  lumberman's  instinctive  hostility 
to  government  control  and  interference  had  not  in  the 
slightest  degree  modified;  but  he  had  begun  to  differentiate 
this  small,  devoted  band  from  the  machinery  of  the 
Forest  Reserves  as  they  were  then  conducted.  He  was  a 
little  inclined  to  the  fanatic  theory;  he  knew  by  now  that  the 
laziness  hypothesis  would  not  apply  to  these. 

"What  is  there  in  it?"  he  asked.  "You  surely  can't  hope 
for  a  boost  in  salary;  and  certainly  your  bosses  treat  you 
badly." 

At  first  he  received  vague  and  evasive  answers.  They 
liked  the  work;  they  got  along  all  right;  it  was  a  lot  better 
than  the  cattle  business  just  now,  and  so  on.  Then  as  it 
became  evident  that  the  young  man  was  genuinely  inter- 
ested, California  John  gradually  opened  up.  One  strange 
and  beautiful  feature  of  American  partisanship  for  an  ideal 
is  its  shyness.  It  will  work  and  endure,  will  wait  and  suf- 
fer, but  it  will  not  go  forth  to  proselyte. 


284          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"The  way  I  kind  of  look  at  it  is  this,"  said  the  old  man 
one  evening.  "I  always  did  like  these  here  mountains  — 
and  the  big  trees  —  and  the  rocks  and  water  and  the  snow. 
Everywhere  else  the  country  belongs  to  some  one:  it's 
staked  out.  Up  here  it  belongs  to  me,  because  I'm  an 
American.  This  country  belongs  to  all  of  us  —  the  people 
—  all  of  us.  We  most  of  us  don't  know  we've  got  it,  that's 
all.  I  kind  of  look  at  it  this  way:  suppose  I  had  a  big  pile 
of  twenty- dollar  gold  pieces  lying  up,  say  in  Siskiyou,  that 
I  didn't  know  nothing  whatever  about;  and  some  fellow  come 
along  and  took  care  of  it  for  me  and  hung  onto  it  even  when 
I  sent  out  word  that  anybody  was  welcome  to  anything  I 
owned  in  Siskiyou  —  I  not  thinking  I  really  owned  anything 
there,  you  understand  —  why  —  well,  you  see,  I  sort  of 
like  to  feel  I'm  one  of  those  fellows!" 

"What  good  is  there  in  hanging  onto  a  lot  of  land  that 
would  be  better  developed?"  asked  Bob. 

But  California  John  refused  to  be  drawn  into  a  discus- 
sion. He  had  his  faith,  but  he  would  not  argue  about  it. 
Sometime  or  other  the  people  would  come  to  that  same 
faith.  In  the  meantime  there  was  no  sense  in  tangling  up 
with  discussions. 

"They  send  us  out  some  reading  that  tells  about  it," 
said  California  John.  "I'll  give  you  some." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  Bob  carried  away  with 
him  a  dozen  government  publications  of  the  sort  that,  he 
had  always  concluded,  everybody  received  and  nobody  read. 
Interested,  not  in  the  subject  matter  of  the  pamphlets,  but 
in  their  influence  on  these  mountain  men,  he  did  read  them. 
In  this  manner  he  became  for  the  first  time  acquainted  with 
the  elementary  principles  of  watersheds  and  water  con- 
servation. This  was  actually  so.  Nor  did  he  differ  in  this 
respect  from  any  other  of  the  millions  of  well-educated  youth 
of  the  country.  In  a  vague  way  he  knew  that  trees  influence 
climate.  He  had  always  been  too  busy  with  trees  to  bother 
about  climate. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          285 

The  general  facts  interested  him,  and  appealed  to  his 
logical  common  sense.  He  saw  for  the  first  time,  because 
for  the  first  time  it  had  been  presented  to  his  attention,  the 
real  use  and  reason  for  the  forest  reserves.  Hitherto  he 
had  considered  the  whole  institution  as  semi-hostile,  at  least 
AS  something  in  potential  antagonism.  Now  he  was  will- 
ing fairly  to  recognize  the  wisdom  of  preserving  some 
portion  of  the  mountain  cover.  He  had  not  really  denied 
it;  simply  he  hadn't  considered  it. 

Early  in  this  conviction  he  made  up  to  Ross  Fletcher  for 
his  brusqueness  in  ordering  the  ranger  off  the  mill  property. 

"I  just  classed  you  with  your  gang,  which  was  natural," 
said  Bob. 

"I  am  one  of  my  gang,  of  course,"  said  Fletcher. 

"Do  you  consider  yourself  one  of  the  same  sort  of  dicky 
bird  as  Plant  and  that  crew?"  demanded  Bob. 

"There  ain't  no  humans  all  alike,"  replied  the  moun- 
taineer. 

Although  Bob  was  thus  rebuffed  in  immediately  getting 
inside  of  the  man's  loyalty  to  his  service  and  his  superiors, 
he  was  from  that  moment  made  to  feel  at  his  ease.  Later,  in  a 
fuller  intimacy,  he  was  treated  more  frankly. 

Welton  laughed  openly  at  Bob's  growing  interest  in  these 
matters. 

"You're  the  first  man  I  ever  saw  read  any  of  those  things," 
said  he  in  regard  to  the  government  reports.  "I  once  read 
one,"  he  went  on  in  delightful  contradiction  to  his  first 
statement.  "It  told  how  to  cut  timber.  When  you  cut 
down  a  tree,  you  pile  up  the  remains  in  a  neat  pile  and  put 
a  little  white  picket  fence  around  them.  It  would  take 
a  thousand  men  and  cost  enough  to  buy  a  whole  new  tract 
to  do  all  the  monkey  business  they  want  you  to  do.  I've 
only  been  in  the  lumber  business  forty  years!  When  a 
college  boy  can  teach  me,  I'm  willing  to  listen;  but  he  can't 
teach  me  the  A  B  C  of  the  business." 

Bob  laughed.    "Well,  I  can't  just  see  us  taking  time  in  a 


286          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

short  season  to  back-track  and  pile  up  ornamental  brush 
piles,"  he  admitted. 

"Experimental  farms,  and  experimental  chickens,  and 
experimental  lumbering  are  all  right  for  the  gentleman 
farmer  and  the  gentleman  poultry  fancier  and  the  gentle- 
man lumberman  —  if  there  are  any.  But  when  it  comes  to 
business " 

Bob  laughed.  "Just  the  same,"  said  he,  "I'm  begin- 
ning to  see  that  it's  a  good  thing  to  keep  some  of  this  timber 
standing;  and  the  only  way  it  can  be  done  is  through  the 
Forest  Reserves." 

"That's  aU  right,"  agreed  Welton.  "Let  'em  reserve. 
I  don't  care.  But  they  are  a  nuisance.  They  keep  step- 
ping on  my  toes.  It's  too  good  a  chance  to  annoy  and 
graft.  It  gives  a  hard  lot  of  loafers  too  good  a  chance  to 
make  trouble." 

"They  are  a  hard  lot  in  general,"  agreed  Bob,  "but  there's 
some  good  men  among  them,  men  I  can't  help  but  admire." 

Welton  rolled  his  eyes  drolly  at  the  younger  man. 

"Who?"  he  inquired. 

"Well,  there's  old  California  John." 

"There's  three  or  four  mossbacks  in  the  lot  that  are  hon- 
est," cut  in  Welton,  "but  it's  because  they're  too  damn 
thick-headed  to  be  anything  else.  Don't  get  kiddish  enough 
to  do  the  picturesque  mountaineer  act,  Bobby.  I  can  dig 
you  up  four  hundred  of  that  stripe  anywhere  —  and  hold- 
ing down  just  about  as  valuable  jobs.  Don't  get  too  thick 
with  that  kind.  In  the  city  you'll  find  them  holding  open- 
air  meetings.  I  suppose  our  friend  Plant  has  been  pinched  ? ' ' 

"Not  yet,"  grinned  Bob,  a  trifle  shamefacedly. 

"Don't  get  the  reform  bug,  Bob,"  said  Welton  kindly, 
"That's  all  very  well  for  those  that  like  to  amuse  themselves, 
but  we're  busy." 


XVIII 

THE  following  spring  found  Plant  still  in  command. 
No  word   had   come  from   the   silence  of   political 
darkness.     His  only  concession  to  the  state  of  affairs 
had  been  an  acknowledgment  under  coercion  that  the  cat- 
tle ranges  had  been  overstocked,  and  that  outside  cattle 
would  not  be  permitted  to  enter,  at  least  for  the  coming 
season.     This  was  just  the  concession  to  relieve  the  imme- 
diate pressure  against  him,  and  to  give  the  Supervisor  time 
to  apply  all  his  energies  to  details  within  the  shades. 

Details  were  important,  in  spite  of  the  absence  of  surface 
indications.  Many  considerations  were  marshalled.  On  one 
side  were  arrayed  plain  affidavits  of  fraud.  In  the  lower 
ranks  of  the  Land  Office  it  was  necessary  to  corrupt  men, 
by  one  means  or  another.  These  lesser  officials  in  the  course 
of  routine  would  come  face  to  face  with  the  damaging  affi- 
davits, and  must  be  made  to  shut  their  eyes  d(  dberately  to 
what  they  know.  The  cases  of  the  higher  officials  were 
different.  They  must  know  of  the  charges,  of  course,  but 
matters  must  be  so  arranged  that  the  evidence  must  never 
meet  their  eyes,  and  that  they  must  adopt  en  bloc  the  findings 
of  their  subordinates.  Bribery  was  here  impossible;  but 
influence  could  be  brought  to  bear. 

Chairman  Gay  upheld  his  cousin,  Henry  Plant,  because 
of  the  relationship.  This  implied  a  good  word,  and  per- 
sonal influence.  After  that  Chairman  Gay  forgot  the 
matter.  But  a  great  number  of  people  were  extremely 
anxious  to  please  Chairman  Gay.  These  exerted  them- 
selves. They  came  across  evidence  that  would  have  caused 
Chairman  Gay  to  throw  his  beloved  cousin  out  neck  and 

287 


288          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

crop,  but  they  swallowed  it  and  asked  for  more  simply 
because  Gay  possessed  patronage,  and  it  was  not  to  their 
interest  to  bring  disagreeable  matters  before  the  great  man. 
Nor  was  the  Land  Office  unlikely  to  listen  to  reason.  A 
strong  fight  was  at  that  time  forward  to  transfer  control  of 
the  Forest  Reserves  from  a  department  busy  in  other  lines 
to  the  Bureau  of  Forestry  where  it  logically  belonged.  This 
transfer  was  violently  opposed  by  those  to  whom  the  dis- 
tribution of  supervisorships,  ranger  appointments  and  the 
like  seemed  valuable.  The  Land  Office  adherents  needed 
all  the  political  backing  they  could  procure;  and  the  friends 
of  Chairman  Gay  epitomized  political  backing.  So  the 
Land  Office,  too,  was  anxious  to  please  the  Chairman. 

At  the  same  time  Simeon  Wright  had  bestirred  himself. 
There  seems  to  be  no  good  and  valid  reason  for  owning  a 
senator  if  you  don't  use  him.  Wright  was  too  shrewd  to 
think  it  worth  while  to  own  a  senator  from  California. 
That  was  too  obvious.  Few  knew  how  closely  affiliated 
were  the  Wright  and  the  Barrow  interests.  Wright  dropped 
a  hint  to  the  dignified  senator;  the  senator  paid  a  casual 
call  to  an  official  high  up  in  the  Land  Office.  Senators 
would  by  their  votes  ultimately  decide  the  question  of 
transfer.  The  official  agreed  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  recom- 
mendations in  this  case. 

Thus  somebody  submerged  beneath  the  Gay  interests 
saw  obscurely  somebody  equally  submerged  beneath  the 
Wright  and  Barrow  interests.  In  due  course  all  Thome's 
careful  work  was  pigeonholed.  An  epitome  of  the  charges 
was  typed  and  submitted  to  the  High  Official.  On  the  back 
of  them  had  been  written: 

"I  find  the  charges  not  proved." 

This  was  signed  by  the  very  obscure  clerk  who  had  filed 
away  the  Thorne  affidavits  and  who  happened  to  be  a  friend 
of  the  man  to  whom  in  devious  ways  and  through  many 
mouths  had  come  an  expression  of  the  Gay  wishes.  It 
was  O.  K.'d  by  a  dozen  others.  The  High  Official  added 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          289 

his  O.  K.  to  the  others.  Then  he  promptly  forgot  about  it, 
as  did  every  one  else  concerned,  save  the  men  most  vitally 
interested. 

In  due  time  Thorne,  then  in  Los  Angeles,  received  a  brief 
communication  from  Stafford,  the  obscure  clerk. 

"In  regard  to  your  charges  against  Supervisor  H.  M. 
Plant,  the  Department  begs  to  advise  you  that,  after  exam- 
ining carefully  the  evidence  for  the  defence,  it  finds  the 
charges  not  proven." 

Thorne  stared  at  the  paper  incredulously,  then  he  did  some- 
thing he  had  never  permitted  himself  before;  he  wrote  in 
expostulation  to  the  Higher  Official. 

"I  cannot  imagine  what  the  man's  defence  could  be,"  he 
wrote,  hi  part,  "but  my  evidence  a  mere  denial  could  hardly 
controvert.  The  whole  countryside  knows  the  man  is 
crooked;  they  know  he  was  investigated;  they  are  now 
awaiting  with  full  confidence  the  punishment  for  well-under- 
stood peculation.  I  can  hardly  exaggerate  the  body  blow 
to  the  Service  such  a  decision  would  give.  Nobody  will 
believe  in  it  again." 

On  reading  this  the  Higher  Official  called  in  one  of  his 
subordinates. 

"  I  have  this  from  Thorne/'  said  he.  "  What  do  you  think 
of  it?" 

The  subordinate  read  it  through. 

"I'll  look  it  up,"  said  he. 

"Do  so  and  bring  me  the  papers,"  advised  the  Higher 
Official. 

The  Higher  Official  knew  Thome's  work  and  approved 
it.  The  inspector  was  efficient,  and  throughout  all  his 
reforming  of  conditions  in  the  West,  the  Department  had 
upheld  him.  The  Department  liked  efficiency,  and  where 
the  private  interests  of  its  own  grafters  were  not  concerned, 
it  gave  good  government. 

In  due  time  the  subordinate  came  back,  but  without  the 
papers. 


2QO          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

" Stafford  says  he'll  look  them  up,  sir,"  said  he.  "He 
told  me  to  tell  you  that  the  case  was  the  one  you  were  ask- 
ing Senator  Barrow  about." 

"Ah!"  said  the  Higher  Official. 

He  sat  for  some  time  in  deep  thought.  Then  he  called 
through  the  open  door  to  his  stenographer. 

" In  re  your's  2ist,"  he  dictated,  "I  repose  every  confi- 
dence in  Mr.  Stafford's  judgment;  and  unless  I  should 
care  to  supersede  him,  it  would  hardly  be  proper  for  me  to 
carry  any  matter  over  his  head." 

Thorne  immediately  resigned,  and  shortly  went  into 
landlooking  for  a  lumbering  firm  in  Oregon.  Chairman 
Gay  wrote  a  letter  advising  Plant  to  "adopt  a  policy  of 
conciliation  toward  the  turbulent  element." 


XIX 

SHORTLY  after  Bob's  return  in  the  early  spring, 
George  Pollock  rode  to  Auntie  Belle's  in  some  dis- 
order to  say  that  the  little  girl,  now  about  a  year 
old,  had  been  taken  sick. 

"Jenny  has  a  notion  it's  something  catching,"  said  he, 
"so  she  won't  let  Jim  send  Mary  over.  There's  too  many 
young-uns  in  that  family  to  run  any  risks." 

"How  does  she  seem?"  called  Auntie  Belle  from  the  bed- 
room where  she  was  preparing  for  departure. 

"She's  got  a  fever,  and  is  restless,  and  won't  eat,"  said 
George  anxiously.  "  She  looks  awful  sick  to  me." 

"They  all  do  at  that  age,"  said  Auntie  Belle  c'/.nfortably; 
"don't  you  worry  a  mite." 

Nevertheless  Auntie  Belle  did  not  return  that  day,  nor 
the  next,  nor  the  next.  When  finally  she  appeared,  it  was 
only  to  obtain  certain  supplies  and  clothes.  These  she 
caused  to  be  brought  out  and  laid  down  where  she  could 
get  them.  She  would  allow  nobod*  to  come  near  her. 

"It's  scarlet  fever,"  she  said,  "a*id  Lord  knows  where 
the  child  got  it.  But  we  won't  scatter  it,  so  you-all  stay 
away.  I'll  do  what  I  can.  I've  been  through  it  enough 
times,  Lord  knows." 

Three  days  later  she  appeared  again,  very  quietly. 

"How's  the  baby?"  asked  Bob.     "Better,  I  hope?" 

"The  poor  little  thing  is  dead,"  said  Auntie  Belle  shortly, 
"and  I  want  you  or  somebody  to  ride  down  for  the 
minister." 

The  community  attended  the  funeral  in  a  body.  It  was 
held  in  the  open  air,  under  a  white  oak  tree,  for  Auntie 

391 


292          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Belle,  with  unusual  caution  and  knowledge  for  the  mount- 
ains, refused  to  permit  even  a  chance  of  spreading  the 
contagion.  The  mother  appeared  dazed.  She  sat  through 
the  services  without  apparent  consciousness  of  what  was 
going  on;  she  suffered  herself  to  be  led  to  the  tiny  enclosure 
where  all  the  Pollocks  of  other  generations  had  been  buried; 
she  allowed  herself  to  be  led  away  again.  There  was  in 
the  brief  and  pathetic  ceremony  no  meaning  and  no  pain 
for  her.  The  father,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  crushed. 
So  broken  was  his  figure  that,  after  the  services,  Bob  was 
impelled  to  lay  his  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder  and  mutter 
a  few  incoherent  but  encouraging  words.  The  mountain- 
eer looked  up  dully,  but  sharpened  to  comprehension  and 
gratitude  as  his  eyes  met  those  of  the  tall,  vigorous  young 
man  leaning  over  him. 

"I  mean  it,"  said  Bob;  "any  time  —  any  place." 

On  the  way  back  to  Sycamore  Flats  Auntie  Belle  expressed 
her  mind  to  the  young  man. 

"Nobody  realizes  how  things  are  going  with  those  Pol- 
locks," said  she.  "  George  sold  his  spurs  and  that  Cruces 
bit  of  his  to  get  medicine.  He  wouldn't  take  anything  from 
me.  They're  proud  folks,  and  nobody'd  have  a  chance  to 
suspect  anything.  I  tell  you,"  said  the  good  lady  solemnly, 
"it  don't  matter  where  that  child  got  the  fever;  it's  Henry 
Plant,  the  old,  fat  scoundrel,  that  killed  her  just  as  plain 
as  if  he'd  stuck  a  gun  to  her  head.  He  has  a  good  deal  to 
answer  for.  There's  lots  of  folks  eating  their  own  beef  cat- 
tle right  now;  and  that's  ruinous.  I  suppose  Washington 
ain't  going  to  do  anything.  We  might  have  known  it.  I 
don't  suppose  you  heard  anything  outside  about  it?" 

"Only  that  Thorne  had  resigned." 

"That  so!"  Auntie  Belle  ruminated  on  this  a  moment. 
"Well,  I'm  right  glad  to  hear  it.  I'd  hate  to  think  I  was 
fooled  on  him.  Reckon  l resign'  means  fired  for  daring  to 
say  anything  about  His  High- and- mightiness?"  she  guessed. 

Bob  shook  his  head.     "Couldn't  say,"  said  he. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          293 

The  busy  season  was  beginning.  Every  day  laden  teams 
crawled  up  the  road  bringing  supplies  for  the  summer  work. 
Woodsmen  came  in  twos,  in  threes,  in  bunches  of  a  dozen 
or  more.  Bob  was  very  busy  arranging  the  distribution 
and  forwarding,  putting  into  shape  the  great  machinery 
of  handling,  so  that  when,  a  few  weeks  later,  the  bundles  of 
sawn  lumber  should  begin  to  shoot  down  the  flume,  they 
would  fall  automatically  into  a  systematic  scheme  of  furtht~ 
transportation.  He  had  done  this  twice  before,  and  he  kne^  ' 
all  the  steps  of  it,  and  exactly  what  would  be  required  of 
him.  Certain  complications  were  likely  to  arise,  requiring 
each  their  individual  treatments,  but  as  Bob's  experience 
grew  these  were  becoming  fewer  and  of  lesser  importance. 
The  creative  necessity  was  steadily  lessening  as  the  work 
became  more  familiar.  Often  Bob  found  his  eagerness 
sinking  to  a  blank;  his  attention  economizing  itself  to  the 
bare  needs  of  the  occasion.  He  caught  himself  at  times 
slipping  away  from  the  closest  interest  in  what  he  had  to  do. 
His  spirit,  although  he  did  not  know  it,  was  beginning  once 
more  to  shake  itself  restlessly,  to  demand,  as  it  had  always 
demanded  in  the  past  from  the  time  of  his  toy  printing  press 
in  his  earliest  boyhood,  fresh  food  for  the  creative  instinct 
that  was  his.  Bobby  Orde,  the  child,  had  been  thorough. 
No  superficial  knowledge  of  a  subject  sufficed.  He  had 
worked  away  at  the  mechanical  difficulties  of  the  cheap 
toy  press  after  Johnny  English,  his  partner  in  enterprise, 
had  given  up  in  disgust.  By  worrying  the  problem  like  a 
terrier,  Bobby  had  shaken  it  into  shape.  Then  when  the 
commercial  possibilities  of  job  printing  for  parents  had 
drawn  Johnny  back  ablaze  with  enthusiasm,  Bobby  had, 
to  his  partner's  amazement,  lost  completely  all  interest  in 
printing  presses.  The  subject  had  been  exhausted;  he  had 
no  desire  for  repetitions. 

So  it  had  gone.  One  after  another  he  had  with  the  utmost 
fervour  taken  up  photography,  sailing,  carpentry,  metal 
working  —  a  dozen  and  one  occupations  —  only  to  drop 


294          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

them  as  suddenly.  This  restlessness  of  childhood  came  to 
be  considered  a  defect  in  young  manhood.  It  indicated 
instability  of  character.  Only  his  mother,  wiser  in  her 
quiet  way,  saw  the  thoroughness  with  which  he  ransacked 
each  subject.  Bobby  would  read  and  absorb  a  dozen  tech- 
nical books  in  a  week,  reaching  eagerly  for  the  vital  principles 
of  his  subject.  She  alone  realized,  although  but  dimly, 
yaat  the  boy  did  not  relinquish  his  subject  until  he  had 
L  rasped  those  vital  principles. 

"He's  learning  all  the  time,"  she  ventured. 

"'Jack  of  all  trades:  master  of  none,'"  quoted  Orde 
doubtfully. 

The  danger  being  recognized,  little  Bobby's  teaching 
was  carefully  directed.  He  was  not  discouraged  in  his 
varied  activities;  but  the  bigger  practical  principles  of  Ameri- 
can life  were  inculcated.  These  may  be  very  briefly 
stated.  An  American  must  not  idle;  he  must  direct  his 
energies  toward  success;  success  means  making  one's  way 
in  life;  nine  times  out  of  ten,  for  ninety-nine  men  out  of  a 
hundred,  that  means  the  business  world.  To  seize  the  busi- 
ness opportunity;  to  develop  that  opportunity  through  the 
business  virtues  of  attention  to  detail,  industry,  economy, 
persistence,  and  enthusiasm  —  these  represented  the  plain 
and  manifest  duty  of  every  citizen  who  intended  to  "be 
somebody." 

Now  Bob  realized  perfectly  well  that  here  he  was  more 
fortunate  than  most.  A  great  many  of  his  friends  had  to 
begin  on  small  salaries  in  indoor  positions  of  humdrum  and 
mechanical  duty.  He  had  started  on  a  congenial  out-of- 
door  occupation  of  great  interest  and  picturesqueness,  one 
suited  to  his  abilities  and  promising  a  great  future.  Never- 
theless, he  had  now  been  in  the  business  five  years.  He  was 
beginning  to  see  through  and  around  it.  As  yet  he  had  not 
lost  one  iota  of  his  enthusiasm  for  the  game;  but  here  and 
there,  once  in  a  while,  some  of  the  necessary  delays  and  slow, 
long  repetitions  of  entirely  mechanical  processes  left  him 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME         295 

leisure  to  feel  irked,  to  look  above  him,  beyond  the  affairs 
that  surrounded  him.  At  such  times  the  old  blank,  doped 
feeling  fell  across  his  mind.  It  had  always  been  so  defin- 
ite a  symptom  in  his  childhood  of  that  state  wherein  he 
simply  could  not  drag  himself  to  blow  up  the  embers  of  his 
extinguished  enthusiasm,  that  he  recoiled  from  himself  in 
alarm.  He  felt  his  whole  stability  of  character  on  trial.  If 
be  could  not  "make  good"  here,  what  excuse  could  there 
be  for  him;  what  was  there  left  for  him  save  the  profitless 
and  honourless  life  of  the  dilettante  and  idler?  He  had 
caught  on  to  a  big  business  remarkably  well,  and  it  was 
worse  than  childish  to  lose  his  interest  in  the  game  even  for 
the  fraction  of  a  second.  Of  course,  it  amounted  to  nothing 
but  that.  He  never  did  his  work  better  than  that  spring. 
A  week  after  the  burial  of  the  Pollock  baby,  Mrs.  Pollock 
was  reported  seriously  ill.  Bob  rode  up  a  number  of  times 
to  inquire,  and  kept  himself  fully  informed.  The  doctor 
came  twice  from  White  Oaks,  but  then  ceased  his  visits. 
Bob  did  not  know  that  such  visits  cost  fifty  dollars  apiece. 
Mary,  Jim's  wife,  shared  the  care  of  the  sick  woman  with 
George.  She  was  reported  very  weak,  but  getting  on.  The 
baby's  death,  together  with  the  other  anxieties  of  the  last 
two  years,  had  naturally  pulled  her  down. 


XX 

BEFORE  the  gray  dawn  one  Sunday  morning  Bob, 
happening  to  awaken,  heard  a  strange,  rumbling, 
distant  sound  to  the  west.  His  first  thought  was 
that  the  power  dam  had  been  opened  and  was  discharging 
its  waters,  but  as  his  senses  came  to  him,  he  realized  that 
this  could  not  be  so.  He  stretched  himself  idly.  A  mock- 
ing bird  uttered  a  phrase  outside.  No  dregs  of  drowsiness 
remained  in  him,  so  he  dressed  and  walked  out  into  the 
freshness  of  the  new  morning.  Here  the  rumbling  sound, 
which  he  had  concluded  had  been  an  effect  of  his  half-con- 
scious imagination,  came  clearer  to  his  ears.  He  listened 
for  a  moment,  then  walked  rapidly  to  the  Lone  Pine  Hill 
from  whose  slight  elevation  he  could  see  abroad  over  the 
low  mountains  to  the  west.  The  gray  light  before  sunrise 
was  now  strengthening  every  moment.  By  the  time  Bob 
had  reached  the  summit  of  the  knoll  it  had  illuminated  the 
world. 

A  wandering  suction  of  air  toward  the  higher  peaks  brought 
with  it  the  murmur  of  a  multitude.  Bob  topped  the  hill 
and  turned  his  eyes  to  the  west.  A  great  cloud  of  dust 
arose  from  among  the  chaparral  and  oaks,  drifting  slowly 
but  certainly  toward  the  Ranges.  Bob  could  now  make 
out  the  bawling,  shouting,  lowing  of  great  herds  on  the 
march.  In  spite  of  pledges  and  promises,  in  spite  of  Cali- 
fornia John's  reports,  of  Thome's  recommendations,  of 
Plant's  assurances,  Simeon  Wright's  cattle  were  again  com- 
ing in! 

Bob  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  his  clear-cut  young  face 
was  grave.  No  one  knew  better  than  himself  what  this 

296 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          297 

must  mean  to  the  mountain  people,  for  his  late  spring  and 
early  fall  work  had  brought  him  much  in  contact  with  them. 
He  walked  thoughtfully  down  the  hill. 

When  just  on  the  outskirts  of  the  little  village  he  was 
overtaken  by  George  Pollock  on  horseback.  The  mount- 
aineer was  jogging  along  at  a  foot  pace,  his  spurs  jingling, 
his  bridle  hand  high  after  the  Western  fashion.  When  he 
saw  Bob  he  reined  in,  nodding  a  good  morning.  Bob 
noticed  that  he  had  strapped  on  a  blanket  and  slicker,  and 
wore  his  six-shooter. 

"You  look  as  though  you  were  going  on  a  journey," 
remarked  Bob. 

" Thinking  of  it,"  said  Pollock.  Bob  glanced  up  quickly 
at  the  tone  of  his  voice,  which  somehow  grated  unusually  on 
the  young  man's  ear,  but  the  mountaineer's  face  was  placid 
under  the  brim  of  his  floppy  old  hat.  "Might  as  well," 
continued  the  cattleman  after  a  moment.  "No thin'  special 
to  keep  me." 

"  I'm  glad  Mrs.  Pollock  is  better,"  ventured  Bob. 

"She's  dead,"  stated  Pollock  without  emotion.  "Died 
this  morning  about  two  o'clock." 

Bob  cried  out  at  the  utterly  unexpected  shock  of  this 
statement.  Pollock  looked  down  on  him  as  though  from 
a  great  height. 

"I  sort  of  expected  it,"  he  answered  Bob's  exclamation. 
"I  reckon  we  won't  talk  of  it.  'Spose  you  see  that  Wright's 
cattle  is  coming  in  again?  I'm  sorry  on  account  of  Jim 
and  the  other  boys.  It  wipes  me  out,  of  course,  but  it  don't 
matter  as  far  as  I'm  concerned,  because  I'm  going  away, 
anyway." 

Bob  laid  his  hand  on  the  man's  stirrup  leather  and  walked 
alongside,  thinking  rapidly.  He  did  not  know  how  to  take 
hold  of  the  situation. 

"Where  are  you  thinking  of  going?"  he  asked. 

Pollock  looked  down  at  him. 

" What's  that  to  you?"  he  demanded  roughly. 


298          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Why  —  nothing  —  I  was  simply  interested,"  gasped 
Bob  in  astonishment. 

The  mountaineer's  eyes  bored  him  through  and  through. 
Finally  the  man  dropped  his  gaze. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  he  at  last,  "'cause  you  and  Jim  are 
the  only  square  ones  I  know.  I'm  going  to  Mexico.  I 
never  been  there.  I'm  going  by  Vermilion  Valley,  and 
Mono  Pass.  If  they  ask  you,  you  can  tell  'em  different. 
I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me." 

"Gladly,"  said  Bob.     "What  is  it?" 

"Just  hold  my  horse  for  me,"  requested  Pollock,  dis- 
mounting. "He  stands  fine  tied  to  the  ground,  but  there's 
a  few  things  he's  plumb  afraid  of,  and  I  don't  want  to  take 
chances  on  his  getting  away.  He  goes  plumb  off  the  grade 
for  freight  teams;  he  can't  stand  the  crack  of  their  whips. 
Sounds  like  a  gun  to  him,  I  reckon.  He  won't  stand  for 
shooting  neither." 

While  talking  the  mountaineer  handed  the  end  of  his 
hair  rope  into  Bob's  keeping. 

"Hang  on  to  him,"  he  said,  turning  away. 

George  Pollock  sauntered  easily  down  the  street.  At 
Supervisor  Plant's  front  gate,  he  turned  and  passed  with- 
in. Bob  saw  him  walk  rapidly  up  the  front  walk,  and  pound 
on  Plant's  bedroom  door.  This,  as  usual  in  the  mountains, 
opened  directly  out  on  the  verandah.  With  an  exclamation 
Bob  sprang  forward,  dropping  the  hair  rope.  He  was  in 
time  to  see  the  bedroom  door  snatched  open  from  within, 
and  Plant's  huge  figure,  white-robed,  appear  in  the  door- 
way. The  Supervisor  was  evidently  angry. 

"What  in  hell  do  you  want?"  he  demanded. 

"You,"  said  the  mountaineer. 

He  dropped  his  hand  quite  deliberately  to  his  holster, 
flipped  the  forty-five  out  to  the  level  of  his  hip,  and  fired 
twice,  without  looking  at  the  weapon.  Plant's  expression 
changed;  turned  blank.  For  an  appreciable  instant  he 
tottered  upright,  then  his  knees  gave  out  beneath  him  and 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          299 

he  fell  forward  with  a  crash.  George  Pollock  leaned  over 
him.  Apparently  satisfied  after  a  moment's  inspection,  the 
mountaineer  straightened,  dropped  his  weapon  into  the 
holster,  and  turned  away. 

All  this  took  place  in  so  short  a  space  of  time  that  Bob 
had  not  moved  five  feet  from  the  moment  he  guessed  Pol- 
lock's intention  to  the  end  of  the  tragedy.  As  the  first  shot 
rang  out,  Bob  turned  and  seized  again  the  hair  rope  attached 
to  Pollock's  horse.  His  habit  of  rapid  decision  and  cool 
judgment  showed  him  in  a  flash  that  he  was  too  late  to  inter- 
fere, and  revealed  to  him  what  he  must  do. 

Pollock,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  took 
the  rope  Bob  handed  him  and  swung  into  the  saddle.  His 
calm  h;  d.  fallen  from  him.  His  eyes  burned  and  his  face 
worked.  With  a  muffled  cry  of  pain  he  struck  spurs  to  his 
horse  and  disappeared. 

Considerably  shaken,  Bob  stood  still,  considering  what 
he  must  do.  It  was  manifestly  his  duty  to  raise  the  alarm. 
If  he  did  so,  however,  he  would  have  to  bear  witness  to  what 
he  knew;  and  this,  for  George  Pollock's  sake,  he  desired 
to  avoid.  He  was  the  only  one  who  could  know  positively 
and  directly  and  immediately  how  Plant  had  died.  -The 
sound  of  the  shots  had  not  aroused  the  village.  If  they  had 
been  heard,  no  one  would  have  paid  any  attention  to  them; 
the  discharge  of  firearms  was  too  common  an  occurrence 
to  attract  special  notice.  It  was  better  to  let  the  discovery 
come  in  the  natural  course  of  events. 

However,  Bob  was  neither  a  coward  nor  a  fool.  He 
wanted  to  save  George  Pollock  if  he  could,  but  he  had  no 
intention  of  abandoning  another  plain  duty  in  the  matter. 
Without  the  slightest  hesitation  he  opened  Plant's  gate  and 
walked  to  the  verandah  where  the  huge,  unlovely  hulk  hud- 
dled in  the  doorway.  There,  with  some  loathing,  he 
determined  the  fact  that  the  man  was  indeed  dead. 
Convinced  as  to  this  point,  he  returned  to  the  street,  and 
looked  carefully  up  and  down  it.  It  was  still  quite  deserted. 


300          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

His  mind  in  a  whirl  of  horror,  pity,  and  an  unconfessed, 
hidden  satisfaction,  he  returned  to  Auntie  Belle's.  The 
customary  daylight  breakfast  for  the  teamsters  had  been 
omitted  on  account  of  the  Sabbath.  A  thin  curl  of  smoke 
was  just  beginning  to  rise  straight  up  from  the  kitchen  stove- 
pipe. Bob,  his  mouth  suddenly  dry  and  sticky,  went  around 
to  the  back  porch,  where  a  huge  olla  hung  always  full  of 
spring  water.  He  rounded  the  corner  to  run  plump  against 
Oldham,  tilted  back  in  a  chair  smoking  the  butt  of  a  cigar. 

In  his  agitation  of  mind,  Bob  had  no  stomach  for  casual 
conversation.  By  an  effort  he  smoothed  out  his  manner 
and  collected  his  thoughts. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Oldham?"  he  greeted  the  older  man; 
"when  did  you  get  in?" 

"About  an  hour  ago,"  replied  Oldham.  His  spare  figure 
in  the  gray  business  suit  did  not  stir  from  its  lazy  posture, 
nor  did  the  expression  of  his  thin  sardonic  face  change, 
but  somehow,  after  swallowing  his  drink,  Bob  decided  to 
revise  his  first  intention  of  escaping  to  his  room. 

"An  hour  ago,"  he  repeated,  when  the  import  of  the  words 
finally  filtered  through  his  mental  turmoil.  "You  travelled 
up  at  night  then?" 

"Yes.     It's  getting  hot  on  the  plains." 

"Got  in  just  before  daylight,  then?" 

"Just  before.  I'd  have  made  it  sooner,  but  I  had  to 
work  my  way  through  the  cattle." 

"Where's  your  team?" 

"I  left  it  down  at  the  Company's  stables;  thought  you 
wouldn't  mind." 

"Sure  not,"  said  Bob. 

The  Company's  stables  were  at  the  other  end  of  the  vil- 
lage. Oldham  must  have  walked  the  length  of  the  street. 
He  had  said  it  was  before  daylight;  but  the  look  of  the  man's 
eyes  was  quizzical  and  cold  behind  the  glasses.  Still,  it 
was  always  quizzical  and  cold.  Bob  called  himself  a  pan- 
icky fool.  Just  the  same,  he  wished  now  he  had  looked 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          301 

for  footprints  in  the  dust  of  the  street.  While  his  brain 
was  thus  busy  with  swift  conjecture  and  the  weighing  of 
probabilities,  his  tongue  was  making  random  conversation, 
and  his  vacant  eye  was  taking  in  and  reporting  to  his  intel- 
ligence the  most  trivial  things.  Generally  speaking,  his 
intelligence  did  not  catch  the  significance  of  what  his  eyes 
reported  until  after  an  appreciable  interval.  Thus  he  noted 
that  Oldham  had  smoked  his  cigar  down  to  a  short  butt. 
This  unimportant  fact  meant  nothing,  until  his  belated 
mind  told  him  that  never  before  had  he  seen  the  man  actu- 
ally smoking.  Oldham  always  held  a  cigar  between  his 
lips,  but  he  contented  himself  with  merely  chewing  it  or 
rolling  it  about.  And  this  was  very  early,  before  breakfast. 

"  Never  saw  you  smoke  before,"  he  remarked  abruptly, 
as  this  bubble  of  irrelevant  thought  came  to  the  surface. 

"No?"  said  Oldham,  politely. 

"  It  would  make  me  woozy  all  day  to  smoke  before  I  ate," 
said  Bob,  his  voice  trailing  away,  as  his  inner  ear  once  more 
took  up  its  listening  for  the  hubbub  that  must  soon  break. 

As  the  moments  went  by,  the  suspense  of  this  waiting 
became  almost  unbearable.  A  small  portion  of  him  kept 
up  its  semblance  of  conversation  with  Oldham;  another 
small  portion  of  him  made  minute  and  careful  notes  of  triv- 
ial things;  all  the  rest  of  him,  body  and  soul,  was  listening, 
in  the  hope  that  soon,  very  soon,  a  scream  would  break  the 
suspense.  From  time  to  time  he  felt  that  Oldham  was 
looking  at  him  queerly,  and  he  rallied  his  faculties  to  the 
task  of  seeming  natural. 

" Aren't  you  feeling  well?"  asked  the  older  man  at  last. 
"You're  mighty  pale.  You  want  to  watch  out  where  you 
drink  water  around  some  of  these  places." 

Bob  came  to  with  a  snap. 

"Didn't  sleep  well,"  said  he,  once  more  himself. 

"Well,  that  wouldn't  trouble  me,"  yawned  Oldham;  "if 
it  hadn't  been  for  cigars  I'd  have  dropped  asleep  in  this 
chair  an  hour  ago.  You  said  you  couldn't  smoke  before 


302  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

breakfast;  neither  can  I  ordinarily.  This  isn't  before  break- 
fast for  me,  it's  after  supper;  and  I've  smoked  two  just  to 
keep  awake." 

"Why  keep  awake?"  asked  Bob. 

"When  I  pass  away,  it'll  be  for  all  day.  I  want  to  eat 
first." 

There,  at  last,  it  had  come!  A  man  down  the  street 
shouted.  There  followed  a  pounding  at  doors,  and  then 
the  murmur  of  exclamations,  questions  and  replies. 

"It  sounds  like  some  excitement,"  yawned  Oldham, 
bringing  his  chair  down  with  a  thump.  "  They  haven't  even 
rung  the  first  bell  yet;  let's  wander  out  and  stretch  our  legs." 

He  sauntered  off  the  wide  back  porch  toward  the  front 
of  the  house.  Bob  followed.  When  near  the  gate  Bob's 
mind  grasped  the  significance  of  one  of  the  trivial  details 
that  his  eyes  had  reported  to  it  some  moments  before.  He 
uttered  an  exclamation,  and  returned  hurriedly  to  the  back 
porch  to  verify  his  impressions.  They  had  been  correct. 
Oldham  had  stated  definitely  that  he  had  arrived  before 
daylight,  that  he  had  been  sitting  in  his  chair  for  over  an 
hour;  that  during  that  time  he  had  smoked  two  cigars  through. 

Neither  on  the  broad  porch,  nor  on  the  ground  near  it,  nor 
in  any  possible  receptacle  were  there  any  cigar  ashes f 


XXI 

THE  hue  and  cry  rose  and  died;  the  sheriff  from  the 
plains  did  his  duty;  but  no  trace  of  the  murderer 
was  found.  Indeed,  at  the  first  it  was  not  known 
positively  who  had  done  the  deed;  a  dozen  might  have  had 
motive  for  the  act.  Only  by  the  process  of  elimination  was 
the  truth  come  at.  No  one  could  say  which  way  the  fugi- 
tive had  gone.  Jim  Pollock,  under  pressure,  admitted  that 
his  brother  had  stormed  against  the  door,  had  told  the  awak- 
ened inmates  that  his  wife  was  dead  and  that  he  was 
going  away.  Immediately  on  making  this  statement,  he 
had  clattered  off.  Jim  steadfastly  maintained  that  his 
brother  had  given  no  inkling  of  whither  he  fled.  Simeon 
Wright's  cattle,  on  their  way  to  the  high  country,  filed 
past.  The  cowboys  listened  to  the  news  with  interest, 
and  a  delight  which  they  did  not  attempt  to  conceal. 
They  denied  having  seen  the  fugitive.  The  sheriff 
questioned  them  perfunctorily.  He  knew  the  breed.  George 
Pollock  might  have  breakfasted  with  them  for  all  that  the 
denials  assured  him. 

There  appeared  shortly  on  the  scene  of  action  a  United 
States  marshal.  The  murder  of  a  government  official  was 
serious.  Against  the  criminal  the  power  of  the  nation  was 
deployed.  Nevertheless,  in  the  long  run,  George  Pollock 
got  clean  away.  Nobody  saw  him  from  that  day  —  or 
nobody  would  acknowledge  to  have  seen  him. 

For  awhile  Bob  expected  at  any  moment  to  be  summoned 
for  his  testimony.  He  was  morally  certain  that  Oldham 
had  been  an  eye-witness  to  the  tragedy.  But  as  time  went 
on,  and  no  faintest  indication  manifested  itself  that  he  could 

303 


304          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

have  been  connected  with  the  matter,  he  concluded  himself 
mistaken.  Oldham  could  have  had  no  motive  in  conceal- 
ment, save  that  of  the  same  sympathy  Bob  had  felt  for 
Pollock.  But  in  that  case,  what  more  natural  than  that 
he  should  mention  the  matter  privately  to  Bob  ?  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  had  any  desire  to  further  the  ends  of  the  law, 
what  should  prevent  him  from  speaking  out  publicly?  In 
neither  case  was  silence  compatible  with  knowledge. 

But  Bob  knew  positively  the  man  had  lied,  when  he 
stated  that  he  had  for  over  an  hour  been  sitting  in  the  chair 
on  Auntie  Belle's  back  porch.  Why  had  he  done  so  ?  Where 
had  he  been  ?  Bob  could  not  hazard  even  the  wildest  guess. 
Oldham' s  status  with  Baker  was  mysterious;  his  occasional 
business  in  these  parts  —  it  might  well  be  that  Oldham 
thought  he  had  something  to  conceal  from  Bob.  In  that 
case,  where  had  the  elder  man  been,  and  what  was  he  about 
during  that  fatal  hour  that  Sunday  morning?  Bob  was 
not  conversant  with  the  affairs  of  the  Power  Company,  but 
he  knew  vaguely  that  Baker  was  always  shrewdly  reaching 
out  for  new  rights  and  privileges,  for  fresh  opportunities 
which  the  other  fellow  had  not  yet  seen  and  which  he  had 
no  desire  that  the  other  fellow  should  see  until  too  late. 
It  might  be  that  Oldham  was  on  some  such  errand.  In  the 
rush  of  beginning  the  season's  work,  the  question  gradually 
faded  from  Bob's  thoughts. 

Forest  Reserve  matters  locally  went  into  the  hands  of  a 
receiver.  That  is  to  say,  the  work  of  supervision  fell  to 
Plant's  head-ranger,  while  Plant's  office  was  overhauled 
and  straightened  out  by  a  clerk  sent  on  from  Washington. 
Forest  Reserve  matters  nationally,  however,  were  on  a  dif- 
ferent footing.  The  numerous  members  of  Congress  who 
desired  to  leave  things  as  they  were,  the  still  more  numerous 
officials  of  the  interested  departments,  the  swarming  petty  poli- 
iticians  dealing  direct  with  small  patronage  —  all  these  power- 
ful interests  were  unable  satisfactorily  to  answer  one  com- 
mon-sense question;  why  is  the  management  of  our  Forest 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          305 

Reserves  left  to  a  Land  Office  already  busy,  already  doubted, 
when  we  have  organized  and  equipped  a  Bureau  of  Forestry 
consisting  of  trained,  enthusiastic  and  honest  men  ?  Reluct- 
antly the  transfer  was  made.  The  forestry  men  picked 
up  the  tangle  that  incompetent,  perfunctory  and  often  venal 
management  had  dropped. 


XXII 

TO  MOST  who  heard  of  it  this  item  of  news  was  inter- 
esting, but  not  especially  important;    Bob  could 
not  see  where  it  made  much  difference  who  held 
the  reins  three  thousand  miles  away.     To  others  it  came  as 
the  unhoped-for,  dreamed-of  culmination  of  aspiration. 

California  John  got  the  news  from  Martin.  The  old 
man  had  come  in  from  a  long  trip. 

"You  got  to  take  a  brace  now  and  be  scientific,"  chaffed 
Martin.  "You  old  mossback!  Don't  you  dare  fall  any 
more  trees  without  measuring  out  the  centre  of  gravity; 
and  don't  you  split  any  more  wood  unless  you  calculate  first 
the  probable  direction  of  riving;  and  don't  you  let  any 
doodle-bug  get  away  without  looking  at  his  teeth/*' 

California  John  grinned  slowly,  but  his  eyes  were  shining. 

"And  what's  more,  you  old  grafters' 11  get  bounced,  sure 
pop,"  continued  Martin.  "They  won't  want  you.  You 
don't  wear  spectacles,  and  you  eat  too  many  proteids  in  your 
beans." 

"You  ain't  heard  who's  going  to  be  sent  out  for  Super- 
visor?" asked  old  John. 

"They  haven't  found  any  one  with  thick  enough  glasses 
yet,"  retorted  Martin, 

California  John  made  some  purchases,  packed  his  mule, 
and  climbed  back  up  the  mountain  to  the  summer  camp. 
Here  he  threw  off  his  saddle  and  supplies,  and  entered  the 
ranger  cabin.  A  rusty  stove  was  very  hot.  Atop  bubbled 
a  capacious  kettle.  California  John  removed  the  cover  and 
peered  in. 

"Chicken  V  dumpling!"  said  he. 

306 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          307 

He  drew  a  broken-backed  chair  to  the  table  and  set  to 
business.  In  ten  minutes  his  plate  contained  nothing  but 
chicken  bones.  He  contemplated  them  with  satisfaction. 

"I  reckon  that'll  even  up  for  that  bacon  performance," 
he  remarked  in  reference  to  some  past  joke  on  himself. 

At  dusk  three  men  threw  open  the  outside  door  and  entered. 
They  found  California  John  smoking  his  pipe  contempla- 
tively before  a  clean  table. 

"Now,  you  bowlegged  old  sidewinder,"  said  Ross  Fletcher, 
striding  to  the  door,  "we'll  show  you  something  you  don't 
get  up  where  you  come  from." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  California  John  with  a  mild  curiosity. 

"Chicken,"  replied  Fletcher. 

He  peered  into  the  kettle.  Then  he  lit  a  match  and 
peered  again.  He  reached  for  a  long  iron  spoon  with  which 
he  fished  up,  one  after  another,  several  dumplings.  Finally 
he  swore  softly. 

"What's  the  matter,  Ross?"    inquired  California  John. 

"You  know  what's  the  matter,"  retorted  Ross  shaking 
the  spoon. 

California  John  arose  and  looked  down  into  the  kettle. 

"Thought  you  said  you  had  chicken,"  he  observed;  "looks 
to  me  like  dumplin'  soup." 

"  I  did  have  chicken,"  replied  the  man.  "  Oh,  you  Miles! — 
Bob! — come  here.  This  old  wreck  has  gone  and  stole  all 
our  chicken." 

The  boys  popped  in  from  the  next  room. 

"I  never,"  expostulated  California  John,  his  eyes  twink- 
ling. "I  never  stole  nothin'.  I  just  came  in  and  found  a 
poor  old  hen  bogged  down  in  a  mess  of  dough,  so  I  rescued 
her." 

The  other  man  said  nothing  for  some  time,  but  surveyed 
California  John  from  head  to  toe  and  from  toe  to  head  again. 

"  Square,"  said  he  at  last. 

"Square,"  replied  California  John  with  equal  gravity. 
They  shook  hands. 


308          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

While  the  newcomers  ate  supper,  California  John  read 
laboriously  his  accumulated  mail.  After  spelling  through 
one  document  he  uttered  a  hearty  oath. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Ross,  suspending  operations. 

"  They've  put  me  in  as  Supervisor  to  succeed  Plant," 
replied  California  John,  handing  over  the  official  document. 
"I  ain't  no  supervisor." 

"I'd  like  to  know  why  not,"  spoke  up  Miles  indignantly. 
"You  know  these  mountains  better'n  any  man  ever  set  foot 
in  Jem." 

"I  ain't  got  no  education,"  replied  California  John. 

"Damn  good  thing,"  growled  Ross. 

California  John  smoked  with  troubled  brow. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  anyhow?"  demanded 
Ross  impatiently,  after  a  while;  "ain't  you  satisfied?" 

"Oh,  I'm  satisfied  well  enough,  but  I  kind  of  hate  to 
leave  the  service;  I  like  her." 

"Quit!"  cried  Ross. 

"No,"  denied  California  John,  "but  I'll  get  fired.  First 
thing,"  he  explained,  "I'm  going  after  Simeon  Wright's 
grazing  permits.  He  ain't  no  right  in  the  mountains,  and 
the  ranges  are  overstocked.  He  can't  trail  in  ten  thousand 
head  while  I'm  supposed  to  be  boss,  so  it  looks  as  though 
I  wasn't  going  to  be  boss  long  after  Simeon  Wright  comes 
in." 

"Oh,  go  slow,"  pleaded  Ross;  "take  things  a  little  easy 
at  first,  and  then  when  you  get  going  you  can  tackle  the  big 
things." 

"  I  ain't  going  to  enforce  any  regulations  they  don't  give 
me,"  stated  California  John,  "and  I'm  going  to  try  to 
enforce  all  they  do.  That's  what  I'm  here  for." 

"That  means  war  with  Wright,"  said  Ross. 

"Then  war  it  is,"  agreed  California  John  comfortably. 

"You  won't  last  ten  minutes  against  Wright." 

"Reckon  not,"  agreed  old  John,  "reckon  not;  but  I'll 
iast  long  enough  to  make  him  take  notice." 


XXIII 

BY  end  of  summer  California  John  was  fairly  on  his 
road.  He  entered  office  at  a  time  when  the  local 
public  sentiment  was  almost  unanimously  against 
the  system  of  Forest  Reserves.  The  first  thing  he  did  was 
to  discharge  eight  of  the  Plant  rangers.  These  fell  back 
on  their  rights,  and  California  John,  to  his  surprise,  found 
that  he  could  not  thus  control  his  own  men.  He  wagged 
his  head  in  his  first  discouragement.  It  was  necessary  to 
recommend  to  Washington  that  these  men  be  removed; 
and  California  John  knew  well  by  experience  what  happened 
to  such  recommendations.  Nevertheless  he  sat  him  down 
to  his  typewriter,  and  with  one  rigid  forefinger,  pecked  out 
such  a  request.  Having  thus  accomplished  his  duty  in  the 
matter,  but  without  hope  of  results,  he  went  about  other 
things.  Promptly  within  two  weeks  came  the  necessary 
authority.  The  eight  ornamentals  were  removed. 

Somewhat  encouraged,  California  John  next  undertook 
the  sheep  problem.  That,  under  Plant,  had  been  in  the 
nature  of  a  protected  industry.  California  John  and  his 
delighted  rangers  plunged  neck  deep  into  a  sheep  war. 
They  found  themselves  with  a  man's  job  on  their  hands. 
The  sheepmen,  by  long  immunity,  had  come  to  know  the 
higher  mountains  intimately,  and  could  hide  themselves 
from  any  but  the  most  conscientious  search.  When  dis- 
covered, they  submitted  peacefully  to  being  removed  from 
the  Reserve.  At  the  boundaries  the  rangers'  power  ceased. 
The  sheepmen  simply  waited  outside  the  line.  It  was  mani- 
festly impossible  to  watch  each  separate  flock  all  the  time. 
As  soon  as  surveillance  was  relaxed,  over  the  line  they  slipped, 

309 


3io          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

again  to  fatten  on  prohibited  feed  until  again  discovered, 
and  again  removed.  The  rangers  had  no  power  of  arrest; 
they  could  use  only  necessary  force  in  ejecting  the  trespas- 
sers. It  was  possible  to  sue  in  the  United  States  courts, 
but  the  process  was  slow  and  unsatisfactory,  and  the  dam- 
ages awarded  the  Government  amounted  to  so  little  that 
the  sheepmen  cheerfully  paid  them  as  a  sort  of  grazing  tax. 
The  point  was,  that  they  got  the  feed  —  either  free  or  at  a 
nominal  cost  —  and  the  rangers  were  powerless  to  stop  them. 

Over  this  problem  California  John  puzzled  a  long  time. 

"We  ain't  doing  any  good  playing  hide  and  coop,"  he 
told  Ross;  "it's  just  using  up  our  time.  We  got  to  get  at 
it  different.  I  wish  those  regulations  was  worded  just  the 
least  mite  different!" 

He  produced  the  worn  Blue  Book  and  his  own  instruc- 
tions and  thumbed  them  over  for  the  hundredth  time. 

"' Employ  only  necessary  force,'"  he  muttered;  "'remove 
them  beyond  the  confines  of  the  reserve.'"  He  bit  sav- 
agely at  his  pipe.  Suddenly  his  tension  relaxed  and  his 
wonted  shrewdly  humorous  expression  returned  to  his 
brown  and  lean  old  face.  "Ross,"  said  he,  "this  is  going 
to  be  plumb  amusing.  Do  you  guess  we-all  can  track  up 
with  any  sheep?" 

"  Jim  Hutchins's  herders  must  have  sneaked  back  over 
by  Iron  Mountain,"  suggested  Fletcher. 

"Jim  Hutchins,"  mused  California  John;  "where  is  he 
now?  Know?" 

"I  heard  tell  he  was  at  Stockton." 

"Well,  that's  all  right  then.  If  Jim  was  around,  he 
might  start  a  shootin'  row,  and  we  don't  want  any  of  that." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  I'm  afraid  of  Jim  Hutchins," 
said  Ross  Fletcher. 

"Neither  am  I,  sonny,"  replied  California  John;  "but 
this  is  a  grand-stand  play,  and  we  got  to  bring  her  off  with- 
out complications.  You  get  the  boys  organized.  We  start 
to-morrow." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          311 

"What  you  got  up  your  sleeve?"  asked  Ross. 

"Never  you  mind." 

"Who's  going  to  have  charge  of  the  office?" 

"Nobody,"  stated  California  John  positively;  "we  tackle 
one  thing  to  a  time." 

Next  day  the  six  rangers  under  command  of  their  super- 
visor disappeared  in  the  wilderness.  When  they  reached 
the  trackless  country  of  the  granite  and  snow  and  the  lost 
short-hair  meadows,  they  began  scouting.  Sign  of  sheep 
they  found  in  plenty,  but  no  sheep.  Signal  smokes  over 
distant  ranges  rose  straight  up,  and  died;  but  never  could 
they  discover  where  the  fire  had  been  burned.  Sheepmen 
of  the  old  type  are  the  best  of  mountaineers,  and  their  skill 
has  been  so  often  tested  that  they  are  as  full  of  tricks  as  so 
many  foxes.  The  fires  they  burned  left  no  ash.  The 
smokes  they  sent  up  warned  all  for  two  hundred  miles. 

Nevertheless,  by  the  end  of  three  days  young  Tom  Car- 
roll and  Charley  Morton  trailed  down  a  band  of  three  thou- 
sand head.  They  came  upon  the  flock  grazing  peacefully 
over  blind  hillsides  in  the  torment  of  splintered  granite.  The 
herders  grinned,  as  the  rangers  came  in  sight.  They  had 
been  "tagged"  in  this  "game  of  hide  and  coop."  As  a 
matter  of  course  they  began  to  pack  their  camp  on  the  two 
burros  that  grazed  among  the  sheep;  they  ordered  the  dogs 
to  round  up  the  flock.  For  two  weeks  they  had  grazed 
unmolested,  and  they  were  perfectly  satisfied  to  pay  the 
inconvenience  of  a  day's  journey  over  to  the  Inyo  line. 

"'llo  boys,"  said  their  leader,  flashing  his  teeth  at  them. 
"'Wan  start  now?" 

"These  Jim  Hutchins's  sheep?"  inquired  Carroll. 

But  at  that  question  the  Frenchman  suddenly  lost  all  his 
command  of  the  English  language. 

"They're  Hutchins's  all  right,"  said  Charley,  who  had 
ridden  out  to  look  at  the  brand  painted  black  on  the  animals' 
flanks.  "No  go  to-night,"  he  told  the  attentive  herder, 
uCamp  here." 


312          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

He  threw  off  his  saddle.  Tom  Carroll  rode  away  to  find 
California  John. 

The  two  together,  with  Ross  Fletcher,  whom  they  had 
stumbled  upon  accidentally,  returned  late  the  following 
afternoon.  By  sunrise  next  morning  the  flocks  were  under 
way  for  Inyo.  The  sheep  strung  out  by  the  dogs  went  for- 
ward steadily  like  something  molten;  the  sheepherders 
plodded  along  staff  in  hand;  the  rangers  brought  up  the 
rear,  riding.  Thus  they  went  for  the  marching  portions 
of  two  days.  Then  at  noon  they  topped  the  main  crest  at 
the  broad  Pass,  and  the  sheer  descents  on  the  Inyo  side 
lay  before  them.  From  beneath  them  flowed  the  plains 
of  Owen's  Valley,  so  far  down  that  the  white  roads  showed 
like  gossamer  threads,  the  ranches  like  tiny  squares  of  green. 
Eight  thousand  feet  almost  straight  down  the  precipice 
fell  away.  Across  the  valley  rose  the  White  Mountains 
and  the  Panamints,  and  beyond  them  dimly  could  be  guessed 
Death  Valley  and  the  sombre  Funeral  Ranges.  To  the 
north  was  a  lake  with  islands  swimming  in  it,  and  above 
it  empty  craters  looking  from  above  like  photographs  of 
the  topography  of  the  moon;  and  beyond  it  tier  after  tier, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  blue  mountains  of  Nevada. 
A  narrow  gorge,  standing  fairly  on  end,  led  down  from  the 
Pass.  Without  hesitation,  like  a  sluggishly  moving,  viscid 
brown  fluid,  the  sheep  flowed  over  the  edge.  The  dogs, 
their  flanking  duties  relieved  by  the  walls  of  dark  basalt  on 
either  hand,  fell  to  the  rear  with  their  masters.  The 
mountain-bred  horses  dropped  calmly  down  the  rough 
and  precipitous  trail. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  the  basalt  gorge  opened  out  to  a 
wide  steep  slope  of  talus  on  which  grew  in  clumps  the  first 
sage  brush  of  the  desert.  Here  California  John  called  a 
halt.  The  line  of  the  Reserve,  unmarked  as  yet  save  by 
landmarks  and  rare  rough  "monuments"  of  loose  stones 
lay  but  just  beyond. 

"This  is  as  far  as  we  go,"  he  told  the  chief  herder. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          313 

The  Frenchman  flashed  his  teeth,  and  bowed  with  some 
courtesy.  "Au  revoi',"  said  he. 

"Hold  on,"  repeated  California  John,  "I  said  this  is  as 
far  as  we  go.  That  means  you,  too;  and  your  men." 

"But  th'  ship!"  cried  the  chief  herder. 

"  My  rangers  will  put  them  off  the  Reserve,  according  to 
regulation,"  stated  California  John. 

The  Frenchman  stared  at  him. 

"Wat  you  do?  "  he  gasped  at  last.    "Where  we  go?" 

"I'm  going  to  put  you  off  the  Reserve,  too,  but  on  the  west 
side,"  said  California  John.  The  old  man's  figure  straight- 
ened in  his  saddle,  and  his  hand  dropped  to  the  worn  and 
shiny  butt  of  his  weapon:  "No;  none  of  that!  Take  your 
hand  off  your  gun!  I  got  the  right  to  use  necessary  force; 
and,  by  God,  I'll  do  it!" 

The  herder  began  a  voluble  discourse  of  mingled  pro- 
testations and  exposition.  California  John  cut  him  short 

"I  know  my  instructions  as  well  as  you  do,"  said  he. 
"They  tell  me  to  put  sheep  and  herders  off  the  Reserve 
without  using  unnecessary  force;  but  there  ain't  nothing 
said  about  putting  them  off  in  the  same  place!" 

Ross  Fletcher  rocked  with  joy  in  his  saddle. 

"So  that's  what  you  had  up  your  sleeve!"  he  fairly 
shouted.  "Why,  it's  as  simple  as  a  b'ar  trap!" 

California  John  pointed  his  gnarled  forefinger  at  the  herder. 

"Call  your  dogs!"  he  commanded  sharply.  "Call  them 
in,  and  tie  them!  The  first  dog  loose  in  camp  will  be  shot. 
If  you  care  for  your  dogs,  tie  them  up.  Now  drop  your 
gun  on  the  ground.  Tom,  you  take  their  shootin' -irons." 
He  produced  from  his  saddle  bags  several  new  pairs  of  hand- 
cuffs, which  he  surveyed  with  satisfaction.  "This  is  busi- 
ness," said  he;  "I  bought  these  on  my  own  hook.  You  bet  I 
don't  mean  to  have  to  shoot  any  of  you  fellows  in  the  back; 
and  I  ain't  going  to  sit  up  nights  either.  Snap  'em  on, 
Charley.  Now,  Ross,  you  and  Tom  run  those  sheep  over 
the  line,  and  then  follow  us  up." 


3 14         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

As  the  full  meaning  of  the  situation  broke  on  the  French- 
man's mind,  he  went  frantic.  By  the  time  he  and  his  herders 
should  be  released,  the  whole  eighty-mile  width  of  the  Sier- 
ras would  lie  between  him  and  his  flocks.  He  would  have 
to  await  his  chance  to  slip  by  the  rangers.  In  the  three 
weeks  or  more  that  must  elapse  before  he  could  get  back, 
the  flocks  would  inevitably  be  about  destroyed.  For  it  is 
a  striking  fact,  and  one  on  which  California  John  had  built 
his  plan,  that  sheep  left  to  their  own  devices  soon  perish. 
They  scatter.  The  coyotes,  bears  and  cougars  gather  to 
the  feast.  It  would  be  most  probable  that  the  sheep-hating 
cattlemen  of  Inyo  would  enjoy  mutton  chops. 

California  John  collected  his  scattered  forces,  delegated 
TWO  men  to  eject  the  captives;  and  went  after  more  sheep. 
He  separated  thus  three  flocks  from  their  herders.  After 
that  the  sheep  question  was  settled;  government  feed  was 
too  expensive. 

" That's  off'n  our  minds,"  said  he.  "Now  we'll  tackle 
the  next  job." 

He  went  at  it  in  his  slow,  painstaking  way,  and  accom- 
plished it.  Never,  if  he  could  help  it,  did  he  depend  on  the 
mails  when  the  case  was  within  riding  distance.  He  pre- 
ferred to  argue  the  matter  out,  face  to  face. 

"The  Government  prejers  friends,"  he  told  everybody, 
and  then  took  his  stand,  in  all  good  feeling,  according  as  the 
other  man  proved  reasonable.  Some  of  the  regulations 
were  galling  to  the  mountain  traditions.  He  did  not  attempt 
to  explain  or  defend  them,  but  simply  stated  their  pro- 
visions. 

"Now,  I'm  swore  in  to  see  that  these  are  carried  out," 
said  he,  "always,  and  if  you  ain't  going  to  toe  the  mark, 
why,  you  see,  it  puts  me  in  one  hell  of  a  hole,  don't  it?  I 
ain't  liking  to  be  put  in  the  position  of  fighting  all  my  old 
neighbours,  and  I  sure  can't  lie  down  on  my  job.  It  don't 
really  mean  much  to  you,  now  does  it;  Link?  and  it  helps 
me  out  a  lot." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          315 

"Well,  I  know  you're  square,  John,  and  I'll  do  it,"  said 
the  mountaineer  reluctantly,  "but  I  wouldn't  do  it  for  any 
other  blank  of  a  blank  in  creation!" 

Thus  California  John  was  able,  by  personality,  to  reduce 
much  friction  and  settle  many  disputes.  He  could  be  uncom- 
promising enough  on  occasion. 

Thus  Win  Spencer  and  Tom  Hoyt  had  a  violent  quarrel 
over  cattle  allotments  which  they  brought  to  California  John 
for  settlement.  Each  told  a  different  story,  so  the  evidence 
pointed  clearly  to  neither  party.  California  John  listened 
in  silence. 

"I  won't  take  sides,"  said  he;  "settle  it  for  yourselves. 
Pd  just  as  soon  make  enemies  of  both  oj  you  as  o)  one." 

Then  in  the  middle  of  summer  came  the  trial  of  it  all. 
The  Service  sent  notice  that,  beginning  the  following  season, 
a  grazing  tax  would  be  charged,  and  it  requested  the 
Supervisor  to  send  in  his  estimate  of  grazing  allotments. 
California  John  sat  him  down  at  his  typewriter  and  made 
out  the  required  list.  Simeon  Wright's  name  did  not  appear 
therein.  In  due  time  somebody  wanted,  officially,  to  know 
why  not.  California  John  told  them,  clearly,  giving  the 
reasons  that  the  range  was  overstocked,  and  quoting  the 
regulations  as  to  preference  being  given  to  the  small  owner 
dwelling  in  or  near  the  Forests.  He  did  this  just  as  a  good 
carpenter  might  finish  the  under  side  of  a  drain;  not  that 
it  would  do  any  good,  but  for  his  own  satisfaction. 

"We  will  now  listen  to  the  roar  of  the  lion,"  he  told  Ross 
Fletcher,  "after  which  I'll  hand  over  my  scalp  to  save  'em 
the  trouble  of  sharpening  up  their  knives." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  lion  did  roar,  but  no  faintest  echo 
reached  the  Sierras.  F©r  the  first  time  Simeon  Wright  and 
the  influence  Simeon  Wright  could  bring  to  bear  failed  of 
their  accustomed  effect  at  Washington.  An  honest,  fear- 
less, and  single-minded  Chief,  backed  by  an  enthusiastic 
Service,  saw  justice  rather  than  expediency.  California  John 
received  back  his  recommendation  marked  "Approved." 


316          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

The  old  man  tore  open  the  long  official  envelope,  when 
he  received  it  from  Martin's  hand,  and  carried  it  to  the 
light,  where  he  adjusted  precisely  his  bowed  spectacles, 
and,  hi  his  slow,  methodical  way,  proceeded  to  investigate 
the  contents.  As  he  caught  sight  of  the  word  and  its  ini- 
tials his  hand  involuntarily  closed  to  crush  the  papers,  and 
his  gaunt  form  straightened.  In  his  mild  blue  eye  sprang 
fire.  He  turned  to  Martin,  his  voice  vibrant  with  an  emo- 
tion carefully  suppressed  through  the  nine  long  years  of  his 
faithful  service. 

"They've  turned  down  Wright,"  said  he,  "and  they've 
give  us  an  appropriation.  They've  turned  down  old  Wright! 
By  God,  we've  got  a  man!" 

He  strode  from  the  store,  his  head  high.  As  he  went  up 
the  street  a  canvas  sign  over  the  empty  storehouse  attracted 
his  attention.  He  pulled  his  bleached  moustache  a  moment; 
then  removed  his  floppy  old  hat,  and  entered. 

An  old-fashioned  exhorting  evangelist  was  holding  forth 
to  three  listless  and  inattentive  sinners.  A  tired-looking 
woman  sat  at  a  miniature  portable  organ.  At  the  close  of 
the  services  California  John  wandered  forward. 

"I'm  plumb  busted,"  said  he  frankly,  "and  that's  the 
reason  I  couldn't  chip  in.  I  couldn't  buy  fleas  for  a  dawg. 
I'm  afraid  you  didn't  win  much." 

The  preacher  looked  gloomily  at  a  nickle  and  a  ten-cent 
piece. 

"Dependin'  on  this  sort  of  thing  to  get  along?"  asked 
California  John. 

"Yes,"  said  the  preacher.  The  woman  looked  out  of 
the  window. 

California  John  said  no  more,  but  went  out  of  the  build- 
ing and  down  the  street  to  Austin's  saloon. 

"Howdy,  boys,"  he  greeted  the  loungers  and  card  players. 
"Saw  off  a  minute.  There's  goin'  to  be  a  gospel  meetin' 
right  here  a  half-hour  from  now.  I'm  goin'  to  hold  it 
and  I'm  goin*  out  now  to  rustle  a  congregation.  At  the 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          317 

close  we'll  take  up  a  collection  for  the  benefit  of  the 
church." 

At  the  end  of  the  period  mentioned  he  placed  himself 
behind  the  bar  and  faced  a  roomful  of  grinning  men. 

"This  is  serious,  boys.  Take  off  your  hat,  Bud.  Wipe 
them  snickers  offn  your  face.  We're  all  sinners;  and  I 
reckon  now's  as  good  a  time  as  any  to  realize  the  fact.  I 
don?t  know  much  about  the  Bible;  but  I  do  recall  enough 
to  hold  divine  services  for  once,  and  I  intend  to  have  'em 
respected." 

For  fifteen  minutes  California  John  conducted  his  ser- 
vices according  to  his  notion.  Then  he  stated  briefly  his 
cause  and  took  up  his  collection. 

"Nine-forty-five,"  said  he  thoughtfully,  looking  at  the 
silver.  He  carefully  extracted  two  nickels,  and  dumped 
the  rest  in  his  pocket.  "I  reckon  I've  earned  a  drink  out 
of  this,"  he  stated;  "any  objections?" 

There  were  none;  so  California  John  bought  his  drink 
and  departed. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  told  the  astonished  and  grateful 
evangelist,  "I  had  to  do  somethin'  to  blow  off  steam,  or  else 
go  on  a  hell  of  a  drunk.  And  it  would  have  been  plumb 
ruinous  to  do  that.  So  you  see,  it's  lucky  I  met  you."  The 
old  man's  twinkling  and  humorous  blue  eyes  gazed  quiz- 
zically at  the  uneasy  evangelist,  divided  between  gratitude 
and  his  notion  that  he  ought  to  reprobate  this  attitude  of 
mind.  Then  they  softened.  California  John  laid  his  hand 
on  the  preacher's  shoulder.  "Don't  get  discouraged," 
said  he;  "don't  do  it.  The  God  of  Justice  still  rules.  I've 
just  had  some  news  that  proves  it." 


XXIV 

FROM  this  moment  the  old  man  held  his  head  high, 
and  went  about  the  work  with  confidence.  He 
built  trails  where  trails  had  long  been  needed;  he 
regulated  the  grazing;  he  fought  fire  so  successfully  that  his 
burned  area  dropped  that  year  from  two  per  cent,  to  one- 
half  of  one  per  cent. ;  he  adjusted  minor  cases  of  special  use 
and  privilege  justly.  Constantly  he  rode  his  district  on  the 
business  of  his  beloved  Forest.  His  beautiful  sorrel,  Star, 
with  his  silver-mounted  caparisons,  was  a  familiar  figure 
on  all  the  trails.  When  a  man  wanted  his  first  Special 
Privilege,  he  wrote  the  Supervisor.  The  affair  was  quite 
apt  to  bungle.  Then  California  John  saw  that  man  per- 
sonally. After  that  there  was  no  more  trouble.  The 
countryside  dug  up  the  rest  of  California  John's  name,  and 
conferred  on  him  the  dignity  of  it.  John  had  heard  it 
scarcely  at  all  for  over  thirty  years.  Now  he  rather  liked 
the  sound  of  "Supervisor  Davidson."  In  the  title  and  the 
simple  dignities  attaching  thereunto  he  took  the  same  gentle 
and  innocent  pride  that  he  did  in  Star,  and  the  silver- mounted 
bridle  and  the  carved-leatber  saddle. 

But  when  evening  came,  and  the  end  of  the  month,  Super- 
visor Davidson  always  found  himself  in  trouble.  Then  he 
sat  down  before  his  typewriter,  on  which  he  pecked  method- 
ically with  the  rigid  forefinger  of  his  right  hand.  Naturally 
slow  of  thought  when  confronted  by  blank  paper,  the 
mechanical  limitations  put  him  far  behind  in  his  reports  and 
correspondence.  Naturally  awkward  of  phrase  when 
deprived  of  his  picturesque  vernacular,  he  stumbled  among 
phrases.  The  monthly  reports  were  a  nightmare  to  him. 

318 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          319 

When  at  last  they  were  finished,  he  breathed  a  deep  sigh, 
and  went  out  into  his  sugar  pines  and  spruces. 

In  August  California  John  received  his  first  inspector. 
At  that  time  the  Forest  Service,  new  to  the  saddle,  heir  to 
the  confusion  left  by  the  Land  Office,  knew  neither  its  field 
nor  its  office  men  as  well  as  it  does  now.  Occasionally  it 
made  mistakes  in  those  it  sent  out.  Brent  was  one  of  them. 

Brent  was  of  Teutonic  extraction,  brought  up  in  Brook- 
line,  educated  in  the  Yale  Forestry  School,  and  experienced 
in  the  offices  of  the  Bureau  of  Forestry  before  it  had  had 
charge  of  the  nation's  estates.  He  possessed  a  method- 
ical mind,  a  rather  intolerant  disposition,  thick  glasses,  a 
very  cold  and  precise  manner,  extreme  personal  neatness, 
and  abysmal  ignorance  of  the  West.  He  disapproved  of 
California  John's  rather  slipshod  dress,  to  start  with;  his 
ingrained  reticence  shrank  from  Davidson's  informal  cor- 
diality; his  orderly  mind  recoiled  with  horror  from  the 
jumble  of  the  Supervisor's  accounts  and  reports.  As  he 
knew  nothing  whatever  of  the  Sierras,  he  was  quite  unable 
to  appreciate  the  value  of  trails,  of  fenced  meadows,  of  a 
countryside  of  peace  —  those  things  were  so  much  a  matter 
of  course  back  East  that  he  hardly  noticed  them  one  way 
or  another.  Brent's  thoroughness  burrowed  deep  into  office 
failures.  One  by  one  he  dragged  them  to  the  light  and 
examined  them  through  his  near-sighted  glasses.  They 
were  bad  enough  in  all  conscience;  and  Brent  was  not  in 
the  least  malicious  in  the  inferences  he  drew.  Only  he  had 
no  conception  of  judging  the  Man  with  the  Time  and  the 
Place. 

He  believed  in  military  smartness,  in  discipline,  in  ordered 
activities. 

"It  seems  to  me  you  give  your  rangers  a  great  deal  of 
freedom  and  latitude,"  said  he  one  day. 

"Well,"  said  California  John,  " strikes  me  that's  the  only 
way.  With  men  like  these  you  got  to  get  their  confidence," 

Brent  peered  at  him. 


320         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"H'm,"  said  he  sarcastically,  "do  you  think  you  have 
done  so?" 

California  John  flushed  through  his  tan  at  the  implica- 
tion, but  he  replied  nothing. 

This  studied  respect  for  his  superior  officer  on  the  Super- 
visor's part  encouraged  Brent  to  deliver  from  time  to  time 
rather  priggish  little  homilies  on  the  way  to  run  a  Forest. 
California  John  listened,  but  with  a  sardonic  smile  concealed 
beneath  his  sun-bleached  moustache.  After  a  little,  how- 
ever, Brent  became  more  inclined  to  bring  home  the  personal 
application.  Then  California  John  grew  restive. 

"In  fact,"  Brent  concluded  his  incisive  remarks  one  day, 
"you  run  this  place  entirely  too  much  along  your  own 
lines." 

California  John  leaned  forward. 

"Is  that  an  official  report?"  he  asked. 

"What?"  inquired  Brent,  puzzled. 

"That  last  remark.  Because  if  it  ain't  you'd  better  put 
it  in  writing  and  make  it  official.  Step  right  in  and  do  it 
now!" 

Brent  looked  at  him  in  slight  bewilderment. 

"I'm  willing  to  hear  your  talk,"  went  on  California  John 
quietly.  "Some  of  it's  good  talk,  even  if  it  ain't  put  out  in 
no  very  good  spirit;  and  I  ain't  kicking  on  criticism  —  that's 
what  I'm  here  for,  and  what  you're  here  for.  But  I  ain't 
here  for  no  private  remarks.  If  you've  got  anything  to 
kick  on,  put  it  down  and  sign  it  and  send  it  on.  I'll  stand 
for  it,  and  explain  it  if  I  can;  or  take  my  medicine  if  I 
can't.  But  anything  you  ain't  ready  and  willing  to  report 
on,  I  don't  want  to  take  from  you  private.  Sabe?" 

Brent  bowed  coldly,  turned  his  back  and  walked  away 
without  a  word.  California  John  looked  after  him. 

"Well,  that  wasn't  no  act  of  Solomon,"  he  told  himself; 
"but,  anyway,  I  feel  better." 

After  Brent's  departure  it  took  California  John  two  weeks 
to  recover  his  equanimity  and  self-confidence.  Then  the 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          321 

importance  of  his  work  gripped  him  once  more.  He  looked 
about  him  at  the  grazing,  the  policing,  the  fire-fighting, 
all  the  varied  business  of  the  reserves.  In  them  all  he  knew 
was  no  graft,  and  no  favouritism.  The  trails  were  being 
improved;  the  cabins  built;  the  meadows  for  horse-feed 
fenced;  the  bridges  built  and  repaired;  the  country  pa- 
trolled by  honest  and  enthusiastic  men.  He  recalled  the 
old  days  of  Henry  Plant's  administration  under  the  Land- 
Office  —  the  graft,  the  supineness,  the  inefficiency,  the  con- 
fusion. 

"We're  savin'  the  People's  property,  and  keepin'  it  in 
good  shape,"  he  argued  to  himself,  "and  that's  sure  the 
main  point.  If  we  take  care  of  things,  we've  done  the  main 
job.  Let  the  other  fellows  do  the  heavy  figgerin'.  The 
city's  full  of  cheap  bookkeepers  who  can't  do  nothing  else." 


XXV 

BUT  a  month  later,  at  the  summer  camp,  California 
John  had  opportunity  to  greet  a  visitor  whom  he 
was  delighted  to  see.  One  morning  a  very  dusty 
man  leaned  from  his  saddle  and  unlatched  the  gate  before 
headquarters.  As  he  straightened  again,  he  removed  his 
broad  hat  and  looked  up  into  the  cool  pine  shadows  with 
an  air  of  great  refreshment. 

"Why,  it's  Ashley  Thorne!"  cried  California  John,  leap- 
ing to  his  feet. 

"The  same,"  replied  Thorne,  reaching  out  his  hand. 

He  dismounted,  and  Charley  Morton,  grinning  a  wel- 
come, led  his  horse  away  to  the  pasture. 

"I  sure  am  glad  to  see  you!"  said  California  John  over 
and  over  again;  "and  where  did  you  come  from?  I  thought 
you  were  selling  pine  lands  in  Oregon." 

Thorne  dropped  into  a  chair  with  a  sigh  of  contentment. 
"I  was,"  said  he,  "and  then  they  made  the  Transfer,  so  I 
came  back." 

"You're  in  the  Service  again?"  cried  California  John 
delighted. 

"Couldn't  stay  out  now  that  things  are  in  proper  hands." 

"Good!  I  expect  you're  down  here  to  haul  me  over 
the  coals,"  California  John  chuckled. 

"Oh,  just  to  look  around,"  said  Thorne,  biting  at  his 
close-clipped,  bristling  moustache. 

Next  morning  they  began  to  look  around.  California 
John  was  overjoyed  at  this  chance  to  show  a  sympathetic 
•and  congenial  man  what  he  had  done. 

41 1  got  a  trail  'way  up  Baldy  now,"  he  confided  as  they 

322 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          323 

swung  aboard.  "It's  a  good  trail  too;  and  it  makes  a  great 
fire  lookout.  We'll  take  a  ride  up  there,  if  you  have  trnie 
before  you  go.  Well,  as  I  was  telling  you  about  that  Cook 
cattle  case  —  the  old  fellow  says— 

At  the  end  of  the  Supervisor's  long  and  interested  dis- 
sertation on  the  Cook  case,  Thome  laughed  gently. 

"Looks  as  if  you  had  him,"  said  he,  "and  I  think  the 
Chief  will  sustain  you.  You  like  this  work,  don't  you?" 

"I  sure  just  naturally  love  it,"  replied  California  John 
earnestly.  "I've  got  the  chance  now  to  straighten  things 
out.  What  I  say  goes.  For  upward  of  nine  years  I've 
been  ridin'  around  seein'  how  things  had  ought  to  be  done* 
And  I  couldn't  get  results  nohow.  Somebody  always  had 
a  graft  in  it  that  spoiled  the  whole  show.  I  could  see  how 
simple  and  easy  it  would  be  to  straighten  everythin*  all  out 
in  good  shape;  but  I  couldn't  do  nothing." 

"Hard  enough  to  hold  your  job,"   suggested  Thome, 

"That's  it.  And  everybody  in  the  country  thought  I 
was  a  damn  fool.  Only  damn  fools  and  lazy  men  took 
rangers'  jobs  those  days.  But  I  hung  on  because  I  believed 
in  it.  And  now  I  got  the  best  job  in  the  bunch.  In  place 
of  being  looked  down  on  as  that  old  fool  John,  I'm  Mr. 
Davidson,  the  Forest  Supervisor." 

"It's  a  matter  for  pride,"  said  Thorne  non-committally. 

"  It  isn't  that,"  denied  the  old  man;  "  I'm  not  proud  because 
I'm  Supervisor.  Lord  love  you,  Henry  Plant  was  Super- 
visor; and  I  never  heard  tell  that  any  one  was  proud  of  him, 
not  even  himself.  But  I'm  proud  of  being  a  good  super- 
visor. They  ain't  a  sorehead  near  us  now.  Everybody's 
out  for  the  Forest.  I've  made  'em  understand  that  it's  for 
them.  They  know  the  Service  is  square.  And  we  ain't 
had  fires  to  amount  to  nothing;  nor  trespass," 

"You've  done  good  work,"  said  Thorne  soberly;  "none 
better.  No  one  could  have  done  it  but  you.  You  have 
a  right  to  be  proud  of  it." 

"Then  you'll  be  sending  in  a  good  report,"  said  Call- 


324         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

fornia  John,  solely  by  way  of  conversation.  "I  suspicion 
that  last  fellow  gave  me  an  awful  roast." 

"I'm  not  an  inspector,"  replied  Thorne. 

"That  so?  You  used  to  be  before  you  resigned;  so  I 
thought  sure  you  must  be  now.  What's  your  job  ?  " 

"I'll  tell  you  when  we  have  more  time,"  said  Thorne. 

For  three  days  they  rode  together.  The  Supervisor  was 
a  very  busy  man.  He  had  errands  of  all  sorts  to  accom- 
plish. Thorne  simply  went  along.  Everywhere  he  found 
good  feeling,  satisfactory  conditions. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  day  as  the  two  men  sat  before  the 
rough  stone  fireplace  at  headquarters,  Thorne  abruptly 
broke  the  long  silence. 

"John,"  said  he,  "I've  got  a  few  things  to  say  that  are 
not  going  to  be  pleasant  either  for  you  or  for  me.  Never- 
theless, I  am  going  to  say  them.  In  fact,  I  asked  the  Chief 
for  the  privilege  rather  than  having  you  hear  through  the 
regular  channels." 

California  John  had  not  in  the  least  changed  his  position, 
yet  all  at  once  the  man  seemed  to  turn  still  and  watchful. 

"Fire  ahead,"  said  he. 

"You  asked  me  the  other  day  what  my  job  is.  It  is 
Supervisor  of  this  district.  They  have  appointed  me  in 
your  place." 

"Oh,  they  have,"  said  California  John.  He  sat  for  some 
time,  his  eyes  narrowing,  looking  straight  ahead  of  him. 
'Td  like  to  know  why!"  he  burst  out  at  last.  A  dull  red 
spot  burned  on  each  side  his  weather-beaten  cheeks. 

d-r  j> 

"You  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  interrupted  Cali- 
fornia John  sharply;  "I  know  that.  But  who  did?  Why 
did  they  do  it?  By  God,"  he  brought  his  fist  down  sharply, 
"I  intend  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this!  I've  been  in  the 
Service  since  she  started.  I've  served  honest.  No  man 
can  say  I  haven't  done  all  my  duty  and  been  square.  And 
that's  been  when  every  man- jack  of  them  was  getting  his 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          325 

graft  as  reg'lar  as  his  pay  check.  And  since  I've  been  Super- 
visor is  the  only  time  tftis  Forest  has  ever  been  in  any  kind 
of  shape,  if  I  do  say  it  myself.  I've  rounded  her  up.  I've 
stopped  the  graft.  I've  fixed  the  'soldiers.'  I've  got 
things  in  shape.  They  can't  remove  me  without  cause  — 
I  know  that  —  and  if  they  think  I'm  goin'  to  lie  down  and 
take  it  without  a  kick,  they've  got  off  the  wrong  foot  good 
and  plenty!'7 

Thorne  sat  tight,  nor  offered  a  word  of  comment. 

"  You've  been  an  inspector,"  California  John  appealed 
to  him.  "  You've  been  all  over  the  country  among  the  dif- 
ferent reserves.  Ain't  mine  up  to  the  others?" 

"Things  are  in  better  shape  here  than  in  any  of  them," 
replied  Thorne  decisively;  "your  rangers  have  more  esprit 
de  corps,  your  neighbours  are  better  disposed,  your  fires 
have  a  smaller  percentage  of  acreage,  your  trails  are  better." 

"Well?"  demanded  California  John. 

"Well,"  repeated  Thorne  leaning  forward,  "just  this. 
What's  the  use  of  it  all?" 

"Use?"  repeated  California  John,  vaguely. 

"Yes.     Of  what  you  and  all  the  rest  of  us  are  doing." 

"To  save  the  public's  property." 

"That's  part  of  it;  and  that's  the  part  you've  been  doing 
superlatively  well.  It's  the  old  idea,  that:  the  idea  ex- 
pressed by  the  old  name  —  the  Forest  Reserves  —  to  save, 
to  set  aside.  It  seemed  the  most  important  thing.  The 
forests  had  so  many  eager  enemies  —  unprincipled  land- 
grabbers  and  lumbermen,  sheep,  fire.  To  beat  these  back 
required  all  our  best  efforts.  It  was  all  we  could  think  of. 
We  hadn't  time  to  think  of  anything  else.  It  was  a  full 
job." 

"You  bet  it  was,"  commented  the  old  man  grimly. 

"Well,  it's  done.  There  will  be  attempts  to  go  back  to 
the  old  state  of  affairs,  but  they  will  grow  feebler  from 
year  to  year.  Things  will  never  slide  back  again.  The 
people  are  awake." 


326          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Think  so?"  doubted  California  John. 

"I  know  it.  Now  comes  the  new  idea.  We  no  longer 
speak  of  Forest  Reserves,  but  of  National  Forests.  We've 
saved  them;  now  what  are  we  going  to  do  with  them? 
What  would  you  think  of  a  man  who  cleared  a  'forty,'  and 
pulled  all  the  stumps,  and  then  quit  work?" 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  California  John,  "but 
what's  that  got  to  do  with  these  confounded  whelps " 

"We  are  going  to  use  these  forests  for  the  benefit  of  the 
people.  We're  going  to  cut  the  ripe  trees  and  sell  them  to 
the  lumber  manufacturer;  we're  going  to  develc  p  the  water 
power;  we're  going  to  improve  the  grazing;  Are' re  going 
to  study  what  we  have  here,  so  that  by  and  by  from  our 
forests  we  will  be  getting  the  income  the  lumberman  now 
gets,  and  will  not  be  injuring  the  estate.  Each  Forest 
is  going  to  be  a  big  and  complicated  business,  like  rail- 
roading or  wholesaling.  Anybody  can  run  Martin's  store 
down  at  the  Flats.  It  takes  a  trained  man  to  oversee  even 
a  proposition  like  the  Star  at  White  Oaks." 

"Oh,  I  see  what  you're  drivin'  at,"  said  California  John, 
"but  I've  made  good  up  to  now;  and  until  they  try  me  out, 
they've  no  right  to  fire  me.  I'll  defy  'em  to  find  anythin' 
crooked!  !  !" 

"John,  you're  as  straight  as  a  string.  But  they  have 
tried  you  out.  Your  office  work  has  been  away  off." 

"  Oh,  that!  What's  those  dinkey  little  reports  and  tiionkey- 
doodle  business  amount  to,  anyhow?  You  know  per- 
fectly well  it's  foolish  to  ask  a  ranger  to  fill  out  an  eight- 
page  blank  every  time  he  takes  a  ride.  What  does  that 
amount  to?" 

"Not  very  much,"  confessed  Thome.  "But  when  things 
begin  to  hum  around  here  there'll  be  a  thousand  times  as 
much  of  the  same  sort  of  stuff,  and  it'll  all  be  important." 

"They'd  better  get  me  a  clerk." 

"They  would  get  you  a  clerk,  several  of  them.  But  no 
man  has  a  right  to  even  boss  a  job  he  doesn't  himself  under- 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          327 

stand.  What  do  you  know  about  timber  grading?  esti- 
mating? mapping?  What  is  your  scientific  training ?" 

"I've  give  my  soul  and  boot-straps  to  this  Service  for 
nine  years  —  at  sixty  and  ninety  a  month,"  interrupted 
California  John.  "Part  of  that  I  spent  for  tools  they  was 
too  stingy  to  give  me.  Now  they  kick  me  out." 

"  Oh,  no,  they  don't,"  said  Thome.  "Not  any!  But  you 
agree  with  me,  don't  you,  that  you  couldn't  hold  down  the 
job?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  snapped  California  John.  "To  hell  with 
such  a  game.  I  think  I'll  go  over  Goldfield  way." 

"No,  you  won't,"  said  Thome  gently.  "You'll  stay  here, 
in  the  Service." 

"What!"  cried  the  old  man  rising  to  his  feet;  "stay  here 
in  the  Service!  And  every  mountain  man  to  point  me  out 
as  that  old  fool  Davidson  who  got  fired  after  workin'  nine 
years  like  a  damn  ijit.  You  talk  foolish!" 

Thorne  arose  too,  and  put  one  hand  on  the  old  man's 
shoulder. 

"And  what  about  those  nine  years?"  he  asked  gently. 
"Things  looked  pretty  dark,  didn't  they?  You  didn't  have 
enough  to  live  on;  and  you  got  your  salary  docked  without 
any  reason  or  justice;  and  you  had  to  stand  one  side  while 
the  other  fellows  did  things  dishonest  and  wrong;  and  it 
didn't  look  as  though  it  was  ever  going  to  get  better.  Nine 
years  is  a  long  time.  Why  did  you  do  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  muttered  California  John. 

"  It  was  just  waiting  for  this  time  that  is  coming.  In  five 
years  we'll  have  the  people  with  us  ;  we'll  have  Congress, 
and  the  money  to  do  things;  we'll  have  sawmills  and 
water-power,  and  regulated  grazing,  and  telephone  linesr 
and  comfortable  quarters.  We'll  have  a  Service  safe- 
guarded by  Civil  Service,  and  a  body  of  disciplined  menr 
and  officers  as  the  Army  and  Navy  have.  It's  coming; 
and  it's  coming  soon  You've  been  nine  years  at  the  other 
thing " 


328          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"It's  humiliating,"  insisted  California  John,  "to  do  a 
job  well  and  get  fired." 

"You'll  still  have  just  the  job  you  have  now  —  only 
you'll  be  called  a  head-ranger." 

"My  people  won't  see  it  that  way." 

Ashley  Thorne  hesitated. 

"  No,  they  won't,"  said  he  frankly  at  last.  "  I  could  argue 
on  the  other  side;  but  they  won't.  They'll  think  you've 
dropped  back  a  peg;  and  they'll  say  to  each  other — at 
least  some  of  them  will:  'Old  Davidson  bit  off  more  than 
he  could  chew;  and  it  serves  him  right  for  being  a  damn 
fool,  anyway.'  You've  been  content  to  play  along  mis- 
understood for  nine  years  because  you  had  faith.  Has 
that  faith  deserted  you?" 

California  John  looked  down,  and  his  erect  shoulders 
shrunk  forward  a  little. 

"Old  friend,"  said  Thorne,  "it's  a  sacrifice.  Are  you 
going  to  stay  and  help  me?" 

California  John  for  a  long  time  studied  a  crack  in  the 
floor.  When  he  looked  up  his  face  was  illuminated  with 
his  customary  quizzical  grin. 

"I've  sure  got  it  on  Ross  Fletcher,"  he  drawled.  "I  done 
told  him  I  wasn't  no  supervisor,  and  he  swore  I  was." 


PART  FOUR 


WHEN  next  Bob  was  able  to  visit  the  Upper  Camp, 
he  found  Thorne  fully  established.  He  rode  in 
from  the  direction  of  Rock  Creek,  and  so  through 
the  pasture  and  by  the  back  way.  In  the  tiny  potato  and 
garden  patch  behind  the  house  he  came  upon  a  woman 
wielding  a  hoe. 

Her  back  was  toward  him,  and  a  pink  sunbonnet,  freshly 
starched,  concealed  all  her  face.  The  long,  straight  lines 
of  her  gown  fell  about  a  vigorous  and  supple  figure  that 
swayed  with  every  stroke  of  the  hoe.  Bob  stopped  and 
watched  her.  There  was  something  refreshing  hi  the  eager- 
ness with  which  she  attacked  the  weeds,  as  though  it  were 
less  a  drudgery  than  a  live  interest  which  it  was  well  to  meet 
joyously.  After  a  moment  she  walked  a  few  steps  to  another 
row  of  tiny  beans.  Her  movements  had  the  perfect  grace 
of  muscular  control;  one  melted,  flowed,  into  the  other. 
Bob's  eye  of  the  athlete  noted  and  appreciated  this  fact. 
He  wondered  to  which  of  the  mountain  clans  this  girl 
belonged.  Vigorous  and  breezy  as  were  the  maidens  of  the 
hills,  able  to  care  for  themselves,  like  the  paladins  of  old, 
afoot  or  ahorse,  they  lacked  this  grace  of  movement.  He 
stepped  forward. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  he. 

The  girl  turned,  resting  the  heel  of  her  hoe  on  the  earth, 
and  both  hands  on  the  end  of  its  handle.  Bob  saw  a  dark, 
oval  countenance,  with  very  red  cheeks,  very  black  eyes  and 
hair,  and  an  engaging  flash  of  teeth.  The  eyes  looked  at 
him  as  frankly  as  a  boy's,  and  the  flash  of  teeth  made  him 
unaffectedly  welcome. 

331 


332          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Is  Mr.  Thorne  here?"  asked  Bob. 

"Why,  no,"  replied  the  girl;  "but  I'm  Mr.  Thome's  sister. 
Won't  I  do?" 

She  was  leisurely  laying  aside  her  hoe,  and  drawing  the 
fringed  buckskin  gauntlets  from  her  hands.  Bob  stepped 
gallantly  forward  to  relieve  her  of  the  implement. 

"Do?"  he  echoed.     "Why,  of  course  you'll  do!" 

She  stopped  and  looked  him  full  in  the  face,  with  an  air 
of  great  amusement. 

"  Did  you  come  to  see  Mr.  Thorne  on  business  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No,"  replied  Bob;  "just  ran  over  to  see  him." 

She  laughed  quietly. 

"Then  I'm  afraid  I  won't  do,"  she  said,  "for  I  must  cook 
dinner.  You  see,"  she  explained,  "I'm  Mr.  Thome's  clerk, 
and  if  it  were  business,  I  might  attend  to  it." 

Bob  flushed  to  the  ears.  He  was  ordinarily  a  young  man 
of  sufficient  self-possession,  but  this  young  woman's  direct- 
ness was  disconcerting.  She  surveyed  his  embarrassment 
with  approving  eyes. 

"You  might  finish  those  beans,"  said  she,  offering  the 
hoe.  "Of  course,  you  must  stay  to  dinner,  and  I  must  go 
light  the  fire." 

Bob  finished  the  beans,  leaned  the  hoe  up  against  the 
house,  and  went  around  to  the  front.  There  he  stopped  in 
astonishment. 

"Well,  you  have  changed  things!"  he  cried. 

The  stuffy  little  shed  kitchen  was  no  longer  occupied. 
A.  floor  had  been  laid  between  the  bases  of  four  huge  trees, 
and  walls  enclosing  three  sides  to  the  height  of  about  eight 
feet  had  been  erected.  The  affair  had  no  roof.  Inside  these 
three  walls  were  the  stove,  the  kitchen  table,  the  shelves  and 
utensils  of  cooking.  Miss  Thorne,  her  sunbonnet  laid  aside 
irom  her  glossy  black  braids,  moved  swiftly  and  easily  here 
and  there  in  this  charming  stage-set  of  a  kitchen.  About 
ten  feet  in  front  of  it,  on  the  pine  needles,  stood  the  dining 
table,  set  with  white. 


"I  beg  pardon,"  said  he.    The  girl  turned 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          333 

The  girl  nodded  brightly  to  Bob. 

"Finished?"  she  inquired.  She  pointed  to  the  water  pail: 
"There's  a  useful  task  for  willing  hands." 

Bob  filled  the  pail,  and  set  it  brimming  on  the  section  of 
cedar  log  which  seemed  to  be  its  appointed  resting  place. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  girl.  Bob  leaned  against  the 
tree  and  watched  her  as  she  moved  here  and  there  about  the 
varied  business  of  cooking.  Every  few  minutes  she  would 
stop  and  look  upward  through  the  cool  shadows  of  the  trees, 
like  a  bird  drinking.  At  times  she  burst  into  snatches  of  song, 
so  brief  as  to  be  unrecognizable. 

"Do  you  like  sticks  in  your  food?"  she  asked  Bob,  as 
though  suddenly  remembering  his  presence,  "and  pine 
needles,  and  the  husks  of  pine  nuts,  and  other  debris  ?  because 
that's  what  the  breezes  and  treeses  and  naughty  little  squir- 
rels are  always  raining  down  on  me." 

"Why  don't  you  have  the  men  stretch  you  a  canvas?" 
asked  Bob. 

"Well,"  said  the  girl,  stopping  short,  "I  have  considered 
it.  I  no  more  than  you  like  unexpected  twigs  in  my  dough. 
But  you  see  I  do  like  shadows  and  sunlight  and  upper  air 
and  breezes  in  my  food.  And  you  can't  have  one  without 
the  other.  Did  you  get  all  the  weeds  out  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Bob.  "Look  here;  you  ought  not  to  have  to 
do  such  work  as  that." 

"Do  you  think  it  will  wear  down  my  fragile  strength?" 
she  asked,  looking  at  him  good-humouredly.  "Is  it  too 
much  exercise  for  me?" 

"No-  "  hesitated  Bob,  "but " 

"  Why,  bless  you,  I  like  to  help  the  babies  to  grow  big  and 
green,"  said  she.  "One  can't  have  the  theatre  or  bridge  up 
here;  do  leave  us  some  of  the  simple  pleasures." 

"  Why  did  you  want  me  to  finish  for  you  then  ?  "  demanded 
Bob  shrewdly. 

She  laughed. 

"Young  man,"  said  she,    "I  could  give  you  at  least  ten 


334          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

reasons,"  with  which  enigmatic  remark  she  whipped  her 
apron  around  her  hand  and  whisked  open  the  oven  door, 
where  were  displayed  rows  of  beautifully  browned  biscuits. 

"Nevertheless "  began  Bob. 

"Nevertheless,"  she  took  him  up,  raising  her  face,  slightly 
flushed  by  the  heat,  "  all  the  men-folks  are  busy,  and  this  one 
woman-folk  is  not  harmed  a  bit  by  playing  at  being  a  farmer 
lassie." 

"  One  of  the  rangers  could  do  it  all  in  a  couple  of  hours." 

"The  rangers  are  in  the  employ  of  the  United  States  Gov- 
ernment, and  this  garden  is  mine,"  she  stated  evenly.  "How 
could  I  take  a  Government  employee  to  work  on  my  prop- 
erty?" 

"But  surely  Mr.  Thorne " 

"Ashley,  bless  his  dear  old  heart,  takes  beans  for  granted, 
as  something  that  happens  on  well-regulated  tables." 

She  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  kitchen  floor  and  looked  up 
through  the  trees.  "He  ought  to  be  along  soon  now.  I 
hope  so;  my  biscuits  are  just  on  the  brown."  She  turned  to 
Bob,  her  eyes  dancing:  "Now  comes  the  exciting  moment 
of  the  day,  the  great  gamble!  Will  he  come  alone,  or  will 
he  bring  a  half-dozen  with  him  ?  I  am  always  ready  for  the 
half-dozen,  and  as  a  consequence  we  live  in  a  grand,  ingenious 
debauch  of  warmed-ups  and  next-days.  You  don't  know 
what  good  practice  it  is;  nor  what  fun!  I've  often  thought 
I  could  teach  those  cook  >  of  Marc  Antony's  something  — 
you  remember,  don't  you,  they  used  to  keep  six  dinners 
going  all  at  different  stages  of  preparation  because  they  never 
knew  at  what  hour  His  High-and-mightiness  might  choose  to 
dine.  Or  perhaps  you  don't  know  ?  Football  men  don't 
have  to  study,  do  they  ?  " 

"What  makes  you  think  I'm  a  football  man?"  grinned 
Bob;  "generally  bovine  expression?" 

"Not  know  the  great  Bob  Orde!"  cried  the  girl.  "Why, 
not  one  of  us  but  had  your  picture,  generally  in  a  nice  gilt 
shrine,  but  always  with  violets  before  it." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          335 

But  on  this  ground  Bob  was  sure. 

"You  have  been  reading  a  ten-cent  magazine,"  he  admon- 
ished her  gravely.  "It  is  unwise  to  take  your  knowledge  of 
the  customs  in  girls'  colleges  from  such  sources." 

From  the  depths  of  the  forest  eddied  a  cloud  of  dust.  Miss 
Thorne  appraised  it  carefully. 

" Warmed-overs  to-night,"  she  pronounced.  "There's 
no  more  than  two  of  them." 

The  accuracy  of  her  guess  was  almost  immediately  veri- 
fied by  the  appearance  of  two  riders.  A  moment  later  Thorne 
and  California  Jonn  dismounted  at  the  hitching  rail,  some 
distance  removed  ?mong  the  azaleas,  and  came  up  afoot. 
The  younger  man  Lad  dropped  all  his  dry,  official  precision, 
his  incisive  abruptness,  his  reticence.  Clad  in  the  high, 
laced  cruisers,  the  khaki  and  gray  flannel,  the  broad,  felt 
hat  and  gay  neckerchief  of  what  might  be  called  the  pro- 
fessional class  of  out-of-door  man,  his  face  glowing  with 
health  and  enthusiasm,  he  seemed  a  different  individual. 

" Hullo!  Hullo!"  he  cried  out  a  joyous  greeting  as  he  drew 
nearer;  "I  couldn't  bring  you  much  company  to-day,  Amy. 
But  I  see  you've  found  some.  How  are  you,  Orde?  I'm 
glad  to  see  you." 

He  and  California  John  disappeared  behind  the  shed, 
where  the  wash  basin  was;  while  Amy,  with  deftness,  re- 
arranged the  taWe  to  accord  with  the  numbers  who  would 
sit  down  to  it. 

The  meal  in  the  open  was  most  delightful;  especially  to 
Bob,  after  his  long  course  of  lumber-camp  provender.  The 
deep  shadows  shifted  slowly  across  the  forest  floor.  Sparkles 
of  sunlight  from  unexpected  quarters  touched  gently  in  turn 
each  of  the  diners,  or  glittered  back  from  glass  or  linen. 
Occasionally  a  wandering  breeze  lifted  a  corner  of  the  table- 
cloth and  let  it  fall,  or  scurried  erratically  across  the  table 
itself.  Occasionally,  too,  a  pine  needle,  a  twig,  a  leaf  would 
zigzag  down  through  the  air  to  fall  in  some  one's  coffee  or 
glass  or  plate.  Birds  flashed  across  the  open  vault  of  thi? 


336          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

forest  room  —  brilliant  birds,  like  the  Louisiana  Tanager; 
sober  little  birds  like  the  creepers  and  nuthatches.  Circum- 
spect and  reserved  whitecrowns  and  brush  tohees  scratched 
and  hopped  silently  over  the  forest  litter.  Once  a  swift  fal- 
con, glancing  like  a  shadowy  death,  slanted  across  the  upper 
spaces.  The  food  was  excellent,  and  daintily  served. 

"I  am  proud  of  my  blue  and  white  enamel-ware,"  Miss 
Thorne  told  Bob;  "it's  so  much  better  than  tin  or  this  ugly 
gray.  And  that  glass  pitcher  I  got  with  coupons  from  the 
coffee  packages." 

"You  didn't  get  these  with  coupons?"  said  Bob,  lifting 
one  of  the  massive  silver  forks. 

"  No,"  she  admitted.  "  That  is  my  one  foolishness.  All  the 
rest  does  not  matter,  but  I  can't  get  along  without  my  silver." 

"And  a  great  nuisance  it  is  to  those  who  have  to  move 
as  we  move,"  put  in  Ashley  Thorne. 

The  forest  officers  took  up  their  broken  conversation. 
Bob  found  himself  a  silent  but  willing  listener.  He  heard 
discussion  of  policies,  business  dealings,  plans  that  widened 
the  horizon  of  what  the  Forest  had  meant  to  him.  In  these 
discussions  the  girl  took  an  active  and  intelligent  part.  Her 
opinion  seemed  to  be  accepted  seriously  by  both  the  men, 
as  one  who  had  knowledge,  and  indeed,  her  grasp  of  details 
seemed  as  comprehensive  as  that  of  the  men  themselves. 

Finally  Thorne  pushed  his  chair  back  and  began  to  fill 
his  pipe. 

"Anybody  here  to-day?"  he  asked. 

The  girl  ran  over  rapidly  a  half-dozen  names,  sketching 
briefly  the  business  they  had  brought.  Then,  one  after  the 
other,  she  told  the  answers  she  had  made  to  them.  This 
one  had  been  given  blanks,  forms  and  instructions.  That 
one  had  been  told  clearly  that  he  was  in  the  wrong,  and  must 
amend  his  ways.  The  other  had  been  advised  but  tenta- 
tively, and  informed  that  he  must  see  the  Supervisor  person- 
ally. To  each  of  these  Thorne  responded  by  a  brief  nod, 
puffing,  meanwhile,  on  his  pipe. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          337 

"All  right?"  she  asked,  when  she  had  finished. 

"  All  right  but  one,"  said  he,  removing  his  pipe  at  last.  "  I 
don't  think  it  will  be  advisable  to  let  Francotti  have  what 
he  wants." 

"Pull  the  string,  then!"  cried  the  girl  gaily. 

Thorne  turned  to  California  John  in  discussion  of  the 
Francotti  affair. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'pull  the  string'?"  Bob  took  the 
occasion  to  inquire. 

"I  settle  a  lot  of  these  little  matters  that  aren't  worth 
bothering  Ashley  with,"  she  explained,  "but  I  tie  a  string  to 
each  of  my  decisions.  I  always  make  them  'subject  to  the 
Supervisor's  approval.'  Then  if  I  do  wrong,  all  I  have  to  do 
is  to  write  the  man  and  tell  him  the  Supervisor  does  not 
approve." 

"I  shouldn't  think  you'd  like  that,"  said  Bob. 

"Like  what?" 

"Why,  it  sort  of  puts  you  in  a  hole,  doesn't  it?  Lays  all 
the  blame  on  you." 

She  laughed  in  frank  amusement. 

"What  of  it?"  she  challenged. 

1 '  Any  letters  ? ' '  Thorne  asked  abruptly.  ' '  Morton  brought 
mail  this  morning,  didn't  he?" 

"Nothing  wildly  important  —  except  that  they're  thinking 
of  adopting  a  ranger  uniform." 

"A  uniform!"  snorted  California  John,  rearing  his  old 
head. 

"Oh,  yes,  I've  heard  of  that,"  put  in  Thorne  instantly. 
"It's  to  be  a  white  pith  helmet  with  a  green  silk  scarf  on  it; 
red  coat  with  gold  lace,  and  white,  English  riding  breeches 
with  leather  leggins.  Don't  you  think  old  John  would 
look  sweet  in  that?"  he  asked  Bob. 

But  the  old  man  refused  to  be  drawn  out. 

"Supervisors  same;  but  with  a  gold  pompon  on  top  the 
helmet,"  he  observed.  "What  is  the  dang  thing,  anyway, 
Amy  ?"  he  asked. 


338          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Dark  green  whipcord,  green  buttons,  gray  hat,  military 
cut." 

"Not  bad,"  said  Thorne. 

"About  one  fifty-mile  ride  and  one  fire  would  make  that 
outfit  look  like  a  bunch  of  mildewed  alfalfa.  Blue  jeans 
is  about  my  sort  of  uniform,"  observed  John. 

"I  don't  believe  we'd  be  supposed  to  wear  it  on  range," 
suggested  Thorne.  "Only  in  town  and  official  business." 
He  turned  to  the  girl  again:  "May  have  to  go  over  Baldy 
to-morrow,"  said  he,  "so  we'll  run  off  those  letters." 

She  arose  and  saluted,  military  fashion.  The  two  dis- 
appeared in  the  tiny  box-office,  whence  presently  came  the 
sound  of  Thome's  voice  in  dictation. 

California  John  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe. 

"  Get  your  apron  on,  sonny,"  said  he. 

He  tested  the  water  on  the  stove  and  slammed  out  a 
commodious  dish-pan. 

"Glasses  first;  then  silver;  and  if  you  break  anything,  I'll 
bash  in  your  fool  head.  There's  going  to  be  some  style  to 
this  dish-washing.  I  used  to  slide  'em  all  in  together  and  let 
her  go.  But  that  ain't  the  way  here.  She  knc  \vs  four  aces 
and  the  jolly  joker  better  than  that.  Glasses  fin.t." 

They  washed  and  wiped  the  dishes,  and  laid  them  carefully 
away. 

"  She's  a  little  wonder,"  said  California  John,  nodding  at 
the  office,  "and  there  ain't  none  of  the  boys  but  helps  all 
they  can." 

Thorne  called  the  old  man  by  name,  and  he  disappeared 
into  the  office.  A  moment  later  the  girl  emerged,  smoothing 
back  her  hair  with  both  hands.  She  stepped  immediately 
to  the  little  kitchen. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she.     "  That  helps." 

"It  was  old  John,"  disclaimed  Bob.  "I'm  ashamed  to 
say  I  should  never  have  thought  of  it." 

The  girl  nodded  carelessly. 

"Where  did  you  learn  stenography?"  asked  Bob. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          339 

"Oh,  I  got  that  out  of  a  ten-cent  magazine  too."  She 
sat  on  a  bench,  looked  up  at  the  sky  through  the  trees,  and 
drew  a  deep  breath. 

"You're  tired,"  said  Bob. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  she  denied.  "  But  I  don't  often  get  a  chance 
to  just  look  up." 

"You  seem  to  do  the  gardening,  the  cooking,  tht  house- 
work, the  clerical  work  —  you  don't  do  the  laundry,  too, 
do  you?"  demanded  Bob  ironically. 

"You  noticed  those  miserable  khakis!"  cried  Amy  with 
a  gesture  of  dismay.  "Ashley,"  she  called,  "change  those 
khakis  before  you  go  out." 

"Yes,  mama,"  came  back  a  mock  childish  voice. 

"What's  your  salary?"  demanded  Bob  bluntly,  nodding 
toward  the  office. 

"What?"  she  asked,  as  tho:igh  puzzled. 

"  Didn't  you  say  you  were  the  clerk  ?" 

"Oh,  I  see.  I  just  help  Ashley  out.  He  could  never 
get  through  the  field  work  and  the  office  work  both." 

"Doesn't  the  Service  allow  him  a  clerk?" 

"  Not  yet;  but  it  will  in  time." 

"What  is  Mr.  Thome's  salary?" 

"Well,  really " 

"Oh,  I  beg  pardon,"  cried  Bob  flushing;  "I  just  meant 
supervisors'  salaries,  of  course.  I  wasn't  prying,  really. 
It's  all  a  matter  of  public  record,  isn't  it?" 

"Of  course."  The  girl  checked  herself.  "Well,  it's 
eighteen  hundred  —  and  something  for  expenses." 

"Eighteen  hundred!"  cried  Bob.  "Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  the  two  of  you  give  all  your  time  for  that}  Why,  we  pay 
a  good  woods  foreman  pretty  near  that!" 

"And  that's  all  you  do  pay  him,"  said  the  girl  quietly. 
"Money  wage  isn't  the  whole  pay  for  any  job  that  is  worth 
doing." 

"  Don't  understand,"  said  Bob  briefly. 

"We  belong  to  the  Service,"  she  stated  with  a  little  move- 


340          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

ment  of  pride.  "Those  tasks  in  life  which  give  a  high 
moneyed  wage,  generally  give  only  that.  Part  of  our  com- 
pensation is  that  we  belong  to  the  Service;  we  are  doing 
something  for  the  whole  people,  not  just  for  ourselves."  She 
caught  Bob's  half -smile,  more  at  her  earnestness  than  at  her 
sentiment,  and  took  fire.  "You  needn't  laugh  1"  she  cried. 
•'  It's  small  now,  but  that's  because  it's  the  beginning,  because 
we  have  the  privilege  of  being  the  forerunners,  the  pioneers! 
The  time  will  come  when  in  this  country  there  will  be  three 
great  Services  —  the  Army,  the  Navy,  the  Forest;  and  an 
officer  in  the  one  will  be  as  much  respected  and  looked  up  to 
as  the  others!  Perhaps  more!  In  the  long  times  of  peace, 
while  they  are  occupied  with  their  eternal  Preparation,  we 
shall  be  labouring  at  Accomplishment." 

She  broke  off  abruptly. 

"If  you  don't  want  to  get  me  started,  don't  be  superior," 
she  ended,  half  apologetic,  half  resentful. 

"  But  I  do  want  to  get  you  started,"  said  Bob. 

"  It's  amusing,  I  don't  doubt." 

"Not  quite  that:  it's  interesting,  and  I  am  no  longer  bewil- 
dered at  the  eighteen  hundred  a  year  —  that  is,"  he  quoted 
a  popular  song,  "'if  there  are  any  more  at  home  like  you.'" 

She  looked  at  him  humorously  despairing. 

"That's  just  like  an  outsider.  There  are  plenty  who 
feel  as  I  do,  but  they  don't  say  so.  Look  at  old  California 
John,  at  Ross  Fletcher,  at  a  half-dozen  others  under  your 
very  nose.  Have  you  ever  stopped  to  think  why  they  have 
so  long  been  loyal?  I  don't  suppose  you  have,  for  I  doubt 
if  they  have.  But  you  mark  my  words!" 

"All  right,  Field  Marshal  — or  is  it  'General'?"  said 
Bob. 

She  laughed. 

"  Just  camp  cook,"  she  replied  good-humouredly. 

The  sun  was  slanting  low  through  the  tall,  straight  trunks 
of  the  trees.  Amy  Thorne  arose,  gathered  a  handful  of  kind- 
ling, and  began  to  rattle  the  stove. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          341 

"I  am  contemplating  a  real  pudding,"  she  said  over  her 
shoulder. 

Bob  arose  reluctantly. 

"I  must  be  getting  on,"  said  he. 

They  said  farewell.    At  the  hitching  rail  Thome  joined  him. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  very  hospitable,"  said  the  Supervisor, 
"but  that  mustn't  discourage  you  from  coming  often.  We'll 
be  better  organized  in  time." 

"It's  mighty  pleasant  over  here;  I've  enjoyed  myself," 
said  Bob,  mounting. 

Thorne  laid  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  knee. 

"I  wish  we  could  induce  you  old-timers  to  come  to  our 
way  of  thinking,"  said  he  pleasantly. 

"How's  that?"  asked  Bob. 

"Your  slash  is  in  horrible  shape." 

"  Our  slash ! "  repeated  Bob  in  a  surprised  tone.     "  How  ?  " 

"It's  a  regular  fire-trap,  the  way  you  leave  it  tangled  up. 
It  wouldn't  cost  you  much  to  pile  the  tops  and  leave  the 
ground  in  good  shape." 

"Why,  it's  just  like  any  other  slash!"  protested  Bob. 
"We're  logging  just  as  everybody  always  logs!" 

"That's  just  what  I  object  to.  And  when  you  fall  a  tree 
or  pull  a  log  to  the  skids,  I  do  wish  we  could  induce  you  to 
pay  a  little  attention  to  the  young  growth.  It's  a  little  more 
trouble,  sometimes,  to  go  around  instead  of  through,  but 
it's  worth  it  to  the  forest." 

Bob's  brows  were  bent  on  the  Supervisor  in  puzzled  sur- 
prise. Thorne  laughed,  and  slapped  the  young  man's  horse 
on  the  flanks  to  start  him. 

"You  think  it  over!"  he  called. 

A  half-hour's  ride  took  Bob  to  the  clearing  where  the  log- 
ging crews  had  worked  the  year  before.  Here,  although  the 
hour  was  now  late,  he  reined  in  his  horse  and  looked.  It 
was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  really  done  so.  Heretofore 
a  slashing  had  been  as  much  a  part  of  the  ordinary  woodland 
landscape  as  the  forest  itself. 


342          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

He  saw  then  the  abattis  of  splintered  old  trunks,  of  lopped 
limbs,  and  entangled  branches,  piled  up  like  jackstraws  to  the 
height  of  even  six  or  eight  feet  from  the  ground;  the  unsightly 
mat  of  sodden  old  masses  of  pine  needles  and  cedar  fans;  the 
hundreds  of  young  saplings  bent  double  by  the  weight  of  de- 
bris, broken  square  off,  or  twisted  out  of  all  chance  of  becoming 
straight  trees  in  their  age;  the  long,  deep,  ruthless  furrows 
where  the  logs  had  been  dragged  through  everything  that 
could  stand  in  their  way;  the  few  trees  left  standing,  weak 
specimens,  undesirable  species,  the  culls  of  the  forest,  further 
scarred  where  the  cruel  steel  cables  had  rasped  or  bitten  them. 
He  knew  by  experience  the  difficulty  of  making  a  way,  even 
afoot,  through  this  tangle.  Now,  under  the  influence  of 
Thome's  suggestion,  he  saw  them  as  great  piles  of  so  much 
fuel,  laid  as  though  by  purpose  for  the  time  when  the  evil 
genius  of  the  forest  should  desire  to  warm  himself. 


II 

BOB  was  finally  late  for  supper,  which  he  ate  hastily  and 
without  much  appetite.  After  finishing  the  meal, 
he  hunted  up  Welton.  He  found  the  lumberman 
tilted  back  in  a  wooden  armchair,  his  feet  comfortably  eleva- 
ted to  the  low  rail  about  the  stove,  his  pipe  in  mouth,  his  coat 
off,  and  his  waistcoat  unbuttoned.  At  the  sight  of  his  homely, 
jolly  countenance,  Bob  experienced  a  pleasant  sensation  of 
slipping  back  from  an  environment  slightly  off-focus  to  the  nor- 
mal, accustomed  and  real.  Nevertheless,  at  the  first  opportu- 
nity, he  tested  his  new  doubts  by  Welton's  common  sense. 

"I  rode  through  our  slash  on  18,"  he  remarked.  " That's 
an  awful  mess." 

"  Slashes  are,"  replied  Welton  succinctly. 

"  If  the  thing  gets  afire  it  will  make  a  hot  blaze." 

"Sure  thing,"  agreed  Welton.  "But  we've  never  had 
one  go  yet  —  at  least,  while  we  were  working.  There's  men 
enough  to  corral  anything  like  that." 

"But  we've  always  worked  in  a  wet  country,"  Bob  pointed 
out.  "Here  it's  dry  from  April  till  October." 

"Have  to  take  chances,  then;  and  jump  on  a  f:vr  ~-""ck  if  it 
starts,"  said  Welton  philosophically. 

"These  forest  men  advise  certain  methods  of  obviating  the 
danger,"  Bob  suggested. 

"Pure  theory,"  returned  Welton.  "The  theory's  a  good 
one,  too,"  he  added.  "That's  where  these  college  men  are 
strong  —  only  it  isn't  practical.  They  mean  well  enough, 
but  they  haven't  the  knowledge.  When  you  look  at  anything 
broad  enough,  it  looks  easy.  That's  what  busts  so  many 
people  in  the  lumber  business."  He  rolled  out  one  of  his 

343 


344          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

jolly  chuckles.  " Lumber  barons!"  he  chortled.  "Oh,  it's 
easy  enough!  Any  mossback  can  make  money  lumbering! 
Here's  your  stumpage  at  a  dollar  a  thousand,  and  there's 
your  lumber  at  twenty!  Simplest  thing  in  the  world.  Just 
the  same  there  are  more  failures  in  the  lumber  business  than 
in  any  other  I  know  anything  about.  Why  is  it  ?" 

"  Economic  waste,"  put  in  Merker,  who  was  leaning  across 
the  counter. 

"Lack  of  experience,"  said  Bob. 

"  A  little  of  both,"  admitted  Welton;  "but  it's  more  because 
die  business  is  made  up  of  ten  thousand  little  businesses. 
You  have  to  conduct  a  cruising  business,  and  a  full-fledged 
real  estate  and  mortgage  business;  you  have  to  build  houses 
and  factories,  make  roads,  build  railroads;  you  have  to  do 
a  livery  trade,  and  be  on  the  market  for  a  thousand  little 
things.  Between  the  one  dollar  you  pay  for  stumpage  and 
the  twenty  dollars  you  get  for  lumber  lies  all  these  things. 
Along  comes  your  hardware  man  and  says,  Here,  why  don't 
you  put  in  my  new  kind  of  spark  arrester;  think  how  little 
it  costs;  what's  fifty  dollars  to  a  half-million-dollar  business? 
The  spark  arrester's  a  good  thing  all  right,  so  you  put  it  in. 
And  then  there's  maybe  a  chance  to  use  a  little  paint  and 
make  the  shanties  look  like  something  besides  shanties;  that 
don't  cost  much,  either,  to  a  half-million-dollar  business. 
And  so  on  through  a  thousand  things.  And  by  and  by  it's 
costing  *~- ->nty  dollars  and  one  cent  to  get  your  lumber  to 
market;  and  it's  B-U-S-T,  bust!" 

"That's  economic  waste,"  put  in  Merker. 

"Or  lack  of  experience,"  added  Bob. 

"  No,"  said  Welton,  emphasizing  his  point  with  his  pipe;  "it's 
not  sticking  to  business!  It's  not  stripping  her  down  to  the 
bare  necessities !  It's  going  in  for  frills !  When  you  get  to  be 
as  old  as  I  am,  you  learn  not  to  monkey  with  the  band  wagon." 

His  round,  red  face  relaxed  into  one  of  his  good-humoured 
grins,  and  he  relit  his  pipe. 

"  That's  the  trouble  with  this  forestry  monkey  business. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          345 

It's  all  right  to  fool  with,  if  you  want  fooling.  So's  fancy 
farming.  But  it  don't  pay.  If  you  are  playing,  why,  it's 
all  right  to  experiment.  If  you  ain't,  why,  it's  a  good  plan 
to  stick  to  the  methods  of  lumbering.  The  present  system 
of  doing  things  has  been  worked  out  pretty  thorough  by  a  lot 
of  pretty  shrewd  business  men.  And  it  works!" 

Bob  laughed. 

"Didn't  know  you  could  orate  to  that  extent,"  he  gibed. 
" Sic  'em!" 

Welton  grinned  a  trifle  abashed. 

"You  don't  want  to  get  me  started,  then,"  said  he. 

"  Oh,  but  I  do !"  Bob  objected,  for  the  second  time  that  day. 

"Now  this  slashing  business,"  went  on  the  old  lumber- 
man in  a  more  moderate  tone.  "When  the  millennium 
comes,  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  clear  up  the  old  slashings." 
He  turned  suddenly  to  Bob.  "How  long  do  you  think  it 
would  take  you  with  a  crew  of  a  dozen  men  to  cut  and  pile 
the  waste  stuff  in  18?"  he  inquired. 

Bob  cast  back  the  eye  of  his  recollection  to  the  hopeless 
tangle  that  cumbered  the  ground. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  he  ejaculated;  "don't  ask  me!" 

"  If  you  were  running  a  business  would  you  feel  like  stop- 
ping work  and  sending  your  men  —  whom  you  are  feeding 
and  paying  —  back  there  to  pile  up  that  old  truck?" 

Bob's  mind,  trained  to  the  eager  hurry  of  the  logging  season, 
recoiled  from  this  idea  in  dismay. 

"I  should  say  not!"  he  cried.  Then  as  a  second  thought 
he  added:  " But  what  they  want  is  to  pile  the  tops  while  the 
work  is  going  on." 

"It  takes  just  so  much  time  to  do  so  much  work,"  stated 
Welton  succinctly,  "and  it  don't  matter  whether  you  do  it 
all  at  once,  or  try  to  fool  yourself  by  spraddling  it  out." 

He  pulled  strongly  at  his  pipe. 

"Forest  Reserves  are  all  right  enough,"  he  acknowledged, 
"and  maybe  some  day  their  theories  will  work  out.  But 
not  now;  not  while  taxes  go  on!" 


Ill 

ONE  day,  not  over  a  week  later,  Bob  working  in  the 
woods,  noticed  California  John  picking  his  way 
through  the  new  slashing.  This  was  a  difficult  mat- 
ter, for  the  fresh-peeled  logs  and  the  debris  of  the  tops  afforded 
few  openings  for  the  passage  of  a  horse.  The  old  man  made 
it,  however,  and  finally  emerged  on  solid  ground,  much  in 
the  fashion  of  one  climbing  a  bank  after  an  uncertain  ford. 
He  caught  sight  of  Bob. 

"  You  fellows  can  change  the  face  of  the  country  beyant  all 
belief,"  announced  the  old  man,  pushing  back  his  hat. 
"  You're  worse  than  snow  that  way.  I  ought  to  know  this 
country  pretty  well,  but  when  I  get  down  into  one  of  your 
pesky  slashings,  I'm  lost  for  a  way  out! " 

Bob  laughed,  and  exchanged  a  few  commonplace  remarks. 

"If  you  can  get  off,  you  better  come  over  our  way,"  said 
California  John,  as  he  gathered  up  his  reins.  "  We're  holding 
ranger  examinations  —  something  new.  You  got  to  tell  what 
you  know  these  days  before  you  can  work  for  Uncle  Sam." 

"What  do  you  have  to  know?"  asked  Bob. 

"  Come  ever  and  find  out." 

Bob  reflected. 

"I  believe  I  will,"  he  decided.  "There's  nothing  to  keep 
me  here." 

Accordingly,  early  next  morning  he  rode  over  to  the  Upper 
Camp.  Outside,  near  the  creek,  he  came  upon  the  deserted 
evidences  of  a  gathering  of  men.  Bed  rolls  lay  scattered 
under  the  trees,  saddles  had  been  thrown  over  fallen  trunks, 
bags  of  provisions  hung  from  saplings,  cooking  utensils 
flanked  the  smouldering  remains  of  a  fire  which  was,  how- 

346 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          347 

ever,  surrounded  by  a  scraped  circle  of  earth  after  the  careful 
fashion  of  the  mountains.  Bob's  eye,  by  now  practised  in 
the  refinements  of  such  matters,  ran  over  the  various  accoutre- 
ments thus  spread  abroad.  He  estimated  the  number  of 
their  owners  at  about  a  score.  The  bedroll  of  the  cowman, 
the  "turkey"  of  the  lumber  jack,  the  quilts  of  the  mountaineer, 
were  all  in  evidence;  as  well  as  bedding  plainly  makeshift  in 
character,  belonging  to  those  who  must  have  come  from  a 
distance.  A  half-dozen  horses  dozed  in  an  improvised  fence- 
corner  corral.  As  many  more  were  tied  to  trees.  Saddles, 
buckboards,  two-wheeled  carts,  and  even  one  top  buggy 
represented  the  means  of  transportation. 

Bob  rode  on  through  the  gate  to  headquarters..  This  he 
found  deserted,  except  for  Amy  Thorne.  She  was  engaged  in 
wiping  the  breakfast  dishes,  and  she  excitedly  waved  a  towel 
at  the  young  man  as  he  rode  up. 

"A  godsend!"  she  cried.  "I'm  just  dancing  with  impa- 
tience! They've  been  gone  five  minutes!  Come  help  me 
finish!" 

Bob  fastened  his  horse,  rolled  back  his  sleeves,  and  took 
hold  with  a  will. 

"Where's  your  examining  board,  and  your  candidates?" 
he  inquired.  "  I  thought  I  was  going  to  see  an  examination." 

"Up  the  Meadow  Trail,"  panted  the  girl.  "Don't  stop 
to  talk.  Hurry!" 

They  hurried,  to  such  good  purpose,  that  shortly  they 
were  clambering,  rather  breathless,  up  the  steeps  of  the 
Meadow  Trail.  This  led  to  a  flat,  upper  shelf  or  bench  in 
which,  as  the  name  implied,  was  situated  a  small  meadow. 
At  the  upper  end  were  grouped  twenty-five  men,  closely 
gathered  about  some  object. 

Amy  and  Bob  plunged  into  the  dew-heavy  grasses.  The 
men  proved  to  be  watching  Thorne,  who  was  engaged  in 
tacking  a  small  target  on  the  stub  of  a  dead  sugar  pine. 
This  accomplished,  he  led  the  way  back  some  seventy-five 
or  eighty  paces. 


348          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Three  shots  each,"  said  he,  consulting  his  note-book 
"Off-hand.  Hicks!" 

The  man  so  named  stepped  forward  to  the  designated 
mark,  sighted  his  piece  carefully,  and  fired. 

"Do  I  get  each  shot  called?"  he  inquired;  but  Thorne 
shook  his  head. 

"You  ought  to  know  where  your  guns  shoot,"  said  he. 

After  the  third  shot,  the  whole  group  went  forward  to 
examine  the  target.  Thorne  marked  the  results  in  his  note- 
book, and  called  upon  the  next  contestant. 

While  the  shooting  went  on,  Bob  had  leisure  to  examine 
the  men.  They  numbered,  as  he  had  guessed,  about  twenty. 
Three  were  plainly  from  the  towns,  for  they  wore  thin  shoes, 
white  shirts,  and  clothes  of  a  sort  ill  adapted  to  out-of-door 
work  in  the  mountains.  Two  others,  while  more  appro- 
priately dressed  in  khakis  and  high  boots,  were  as  evidently 
foreign  to  the  hills.  Bob  guessed  them  recent  college  grad- 
uates, perhaps  even  of  some  one  of  the  forestry  schools.  In 
this  he  was  correct.  The  rest  were  professional  out-of-door 
men.  Bob  recognized  two  of  his  own  woods-crew  —  good 
men  they  were,  too.  He  nodded  to  them.  A  half-dozen 
lithe,  slender  youths,  handsome  and  browned,  drew  apart 
by  themselves.  He  remembered  having  noticed  one  of  them 
as  a  particularly  daring  rider  after  Pollock's  cattle  the  fall 
before;  and  guessed  his  companions  to  be  of  the  same  breed. 
Among  the  remainder,  two  picturesque,  lean,  slow  and  quiz- 
zical prospectors  attracted  his  particular  attention. 

Most  of  these  men  were  well  practised  in  the  use  of  the 
rifle,  but  evidently  not  to  exhibiting  their  skill  in  company. 
What  seemed  to  Bob  a  rather  exaggerated  earnestness 
oppressed  them.  The  shooting,  with  two  exceptions,  was  not 
good.  Several,  whom  Bob  strongly  suspected  had  many 
a  time  brought  down  their  deer  on  the  run,  even  missed  the 
target  entirely !  It  was  to  be  remarked  that  each  contestant, 
though  he  might  turn  red  beneath  his  tan,  took  the  announce- 
ment of  the  result  in  silence. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          349 

The  two  notable  exceptions  referred  to  were  strangely  con- 
trasted. The  elder  was  one  of  the  prospectors.  He  was 
armed  with  an  ancient  45-70  Winchester,  worn  smooth  and 
shiny  by  long  carrying  in  a  saddle  holster.  This  arm  was 
fitted  with  buckhorn  sights  of  the  old  mountain  type.  When 
it  exploded,  its  black  powder  blew  forth  a  stunning  detona- 
tion and  volume  of  smoke.  Nevertheless,  of  the  three  bullets, 
two  were  within  the  tiny  black  Thorne  had  seen  fit  to  mark 
as  bullseye,  and  the  other  clipped  close  to  its  edge.  A 
murmur  of  admiration  went  up  from  the  bystanders.  Even 
eliminating  the  unaccountable  nervousness  that  had  thrown 
so  many  shots  wild,  it  seemed  improbable  that  any  of  the  other 
contestants  felt  themselves  qualified  to  equal  this  score. 

"Good  shooting,"  whispered  Bob  to  Amy.  "I  doubt 
if  I  could  make  out  that  bullseye  through  sights." 

The  other  exception,  whose  turn  came  somewhat  later,  was 
one  of  the  Easterners  mentioned  as  a  graduate  of  the  for- 
estry school.  This  young  man,  not  over  twenty-two  years  of 
age,  was  an  attractive  youngster,  with  refined  features,  and 
engaging  dark-blue  eyes.  His  arm  was  the  then  latest  model, 
a  33-calibre  high  power,  fitted  with  aperture  sights.  This 
he  manipulated  with  great  care,  adjusting  it  again  and  again; 
and  fired  with  such  deliberation  that  some  of  the  spectators 
moved  impatiently.  Nevertheless,  the  target,  on  examina- 
tion, showed  that  he  had  duplicated  the  prospector's  score. 
To  be  sure,  the  worst  shot  had  not  cut  quite  as  close  to  the 
bull  as  had  that  of  the  older  man,  but  on  the  other  hand, 
those  in  the  black  were  slightly  nearer  the  centre.  It  was 
generally  adjudged  a  good  tie. 

"Well,  youngster!"  cried  the  prospector,  heartily,  "we're 
the  cocks  of  the  walk!  If  you  can  handle  the  other  weep'n 
as  well,  I'll  give  you  my  hand  for  a  good  shot." 

The  young  man  smiled  shyly,  but  said  nothing. 

The  distance  was  now  shortened  to  something  under 
twenty  paces,  and  a  new  target  substituted  for  the  old.  The 
black  in  this  was  fully  six  inches  in  diameter. 


350          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Five  shots  with  six-shooter,"  announced  Thorne  briefly. 

"A  man  should  hit  a  dollar  twice  in  five  at  that  distance," 
muttered  the  prospector.  Thorne  caught  the  remark. 

"  You  hit  that  five  out  of  five,  and  I'll  forgive  you,"  said  he 
curtly.  "Hicks,  you  begin." 

The  contest  went  forward  with  varying  success.  Not  over 
half  of  the  men  were  practised  with  the  smaller  arm.  Some 
very  wild  work  was  done.  On  the  other  hand,  eight  or  ten 
performed  very  creditably,  placing  their  bullets  in  or  near 
the  black.  Indeed,  two  succeeded  in  hitting  the  bullseye 
four  times  out  of  five.  Every  man  took  the  utmost  pains  with 
every  shot. 

"Now,  Ware,"  said  Thorne,  at  last,  "step  up.  You've 
got  to  make  good  that  five  out  of  five  to  win." 

The  prospector  stood  forward,  at  the  same  time  producing 
from  an  open  holster  blackened  by  time  one  of  the  long- 
barrelled  single-action  Colt's  45*5,  so  universally  in  use  on  the 
frontier.  He  glarvcod  carelessly  toward  the  mark,  grinned 
back  at  the  crowd,  turned,  and  instantly  began  firing.  He 
shot  the  five  shots  without  appreciable  sighting  before  each, 
as  fast  as  his  thumb  could  pull  back  the  long-shanked  hammer. 
The  muzzle  of  the  weapon  rose  and  fell  with  a  regularity  posi- 
tively mechanical,  and  the  five  shots  had  been  delivered 
in  half  that  number  of  seconds. 

"There's  your  five,"  said  he,  carelessly  dropping  his  gun 
back  into  its  holster. 

The  five  bullets  were  found  to  be  scattered  within  the  six- 
inch  black. 

The  concourse  withdrew  to  give  space  for  the  next  con- 
testant. Silence  fell  as  the  man  was  taking  his  aim.  Amy 
touched  Bob's  arm.  He  looked  down.  Her  eyes  were  shin- 
ing, and  her  cheeks  red  with  excitement. 

"Doesn't  it  remind  you  of  anything?"  she  whispered 
eagerly. 

"What?"  he  asked,  not  guessing  her  meaning. 

"This:  all  of  it!"  she  waved  her  hand  abroad  at  the  fair 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          351 

oval  meadow  with  its  fringe  of  tall  trees  and  the  blue  sky  above 
it;  at  the  close-gathered  knot  of  spectators,  and  the  single 
contestant  advanced  before  them.  He  shook  his  head. 
"Wait,"  she  breathed,  laying  her  fingers  across  her  lips. 

The  contest  wore  along  until  it  again  came  the  turn  of  the 
younger  man.  He  stepped  to  the  front,  unbuckled  a  covered 
holster  of  the  sort  never  carried  in  the  West,  and  produced 
one  of  those  beautifully  balanced,  beautifully  finished  revol- 
vers known  as  the  Officer's  Model.  Taking  the  firm  yet 
easy  position  of  the  practised  target  shot,  he  sighted  with 
great  deliberation,  firing  only  when  he  considered  his  aim 
assured.  Indeed,  once  he  lowered  his  weapon  until  a  puff 
of  wind  had  passed.  The  five  shots  were  found  to  be  not 
only  within  the  black,  but  grouped  inside  a  three-inch  diam- 
eter. 

" '  A  Hubert!  A  Hubert! ' "  breathed  the  girl  in  Bob's  ear. 
"In  the  clout!" 

"I  thought  his  name  was  Elliott,"  said  Bob.  "Is  it 
Hubert?" 

The  girl  eyed  him  reproachfully,  but  said  nothing. 

"You're  a  good  shot,  youngster!"  cried  Ware,  in  the 
heartiest  congratulation;  "but  if  Mr.  Thorne  don't  mind, 
I'd  like  to  shoot  off  this  tie.  Down  in  our  country  we  don't 
shoot  quite  that  way,  or  at  that  kind  of  a  mark.  Will  you 
take  a  try  my  way  ?  " 

Amy  leaned  again  toward  Bob,  her  face  aflame. 

"'And  now,1"  she  shot  at  him,  "'/  will  crave  your  Grace's 
permission  to  plant  such  a  mark  as  is  used  in  the  north  country; 

and  welcome  every  brave  yeoman  who  shall  try  a  shot  at  it ' 

Don't  dare  tell  me  you  don't  remember!" 

" '  A  man  can  but  do  his  best,'  "  Bob  took  up  the  tale.  "  Of 
course,  I  remember;  you're  right." 

"All  right,"  Thorne  was  agreeing,  "but  make  it  short. 
We've  got  a  lot  to  do." 

Ware  selected  another  target  —  one  intended  for  the  six- 
shooters  —  that  had  not  been  used.  This  he  tacked  up  in 


352          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

place  of  the  one  already  disfigured  by  many  shots.     Then 
he  paced  off  twelve  yards. 

"That  looks  easier  than  the  other,"  Thorne  commented. 

"Mebbe,"  agreed  Ware,  non-committally,  "but  you  may 
change  your  mind.  As  for  that  sort  of  monkey- work,"  he 
indicated  the  discarded  target,  "down  our  way  we'd  as  soon 
shoot  at  a  barn." 

The  girl  softly  clapped  her  hands. 

"*For  his  own  part,'"  she  quoted  in  a  breath,  and  so 
rapidly  that  the  words  fairly  tumbled  over  one  another,  "'in 
the  land  where  he  was  bred,  men  would  as  soon  take  for  their 
mark  King  Arthur's  round  table,  which  held  sixty  knights 
around  it.  A  child  of  seven  might  hit  yonder  target  with  a 
headless  shaft. '  Oh,  this  is  perfect." 

"  Now,"  said  Ware  to  young  Elliott,  "if  you'll  hit  that  mark 
in  my  fashion  of  shooting,  you're  all  right." 

Bob  turned  to  the  girl,  his  eyes  dancing  with  delight. 

"' —  he  that  hits  yon  mark  at  I-jorget-how-many  yards,'" 
he  declaimed,  " '/  will  call  him  an  archer  fit  to  bear  bow  before 
a  king' — or  something  to  that  effect;  I'm  afraid  I'm  not 
letter  perfect." 

He  laughed  amusedly,  and  the  girl  laughed  with  him. 
"Just  the  same,  I'm  glad  you  remember,"  she  told  him. 

Ware  had  by  now  taken  his  place  at  the  new  mark  he  had 
established. 

"Fifteen  shots,"  he  announced.  At  the  word  his  hand 
dropped  to  the  butt  of  his  gun,  his  right  shoulder  hunched 
forward,  and  with  one  lightning  smooth  motion  the  weapon 
glided  from  the  holster.  Hardly  had  it  left  the  leather  when 
it  was  exploded.  The  hammer  had  been  cocked  during  the 
upward  flip  of  the  muzzle.  The  first  discharge  was  followed 
immediately  by  the  five  others  in  a  succession  so  rapid  that 
Bob  believed  the  man  had  substituted  a  self-cocking  arm 
until  he  caught  the  rapid  play  of  the  marksman's  thumb. 
The  weapon  was  at  no  time  raised  above  the  level  of  the 
man's  waist. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          353 

"Hold  on!"  commanded  Ware,  as  the  bystanders  started 
forward  to  examine  the  result  of  the  shots.  "  Let's  finish 
the  string  first." 

He  had  been  deliberately  pushing  out  the  exploded  cart- 
ridges one  by  one.  Now  he  as  deliberately  reloaded.  Tak- 
ing a  position  somewhat  to  the  left  of  the  target,  he  folded 
his  arms  so  that  the  revolver  lay  across  his  breast  with  its 
muzzle  resting  over  his  left  elbow.  Then  he  strode  rapidly 
but  evenly  across  the  face  of  the  target,  discharging  the  five 
bullets  as  he  walked. 

Again  he  reloaded.  This  time  he  stood  with  the  revolver 
hanging  in  his  right  hand  gazing  intently  for  some  moments 
at  the  target,  measuring  carefully  with  his  eye  its  direction  and 
height.  He  turned  his  back;  and,  flipping  his  gun  over  his 
left  shoulder,  fired  without  looking  back. 

"The  first  ten  ought  to  be  in  the  black,"  announced  Ware, 
"The  last  five  ought  to  be  somewheres  on  the  paper.  A 
fellow  can't  expect  more  than  to  generally  wing  a  man  over 
his  shoulder." 

But  on  examination  the  black  proved  to  hold  but  eight 
bullet  holes.  The  other  seven,  however,  all  showed  on  the 
paper. 

"Comes  of  not  wiping  out  the  dirt  once  in  a  while  when 
you're  shooting  black  powder,"  said  Ware  philosophically. 

The  crowd  gazed  upon  him  with  admiration. 

"That's  a  remarkable  group  of  shots  to  be  literally  thrown 
out  at  that  speed,"  muttered  Thorne  to  Bob.  "Why,  you 
could  cover  them  with  your  hat!  Well,  young  man,"  he 
addressed  Elliott,  "step  up!" 

But  Elliott  shook  his  head. 

"Couldn't  touch  that  with  a  ten-foot  pole,"  said  he  pleas- 
antly. "Mr.  Ware  has  given  me  a  new  idea  of  what  can  be 
done  with  a  revolver.  His  work  is  especially  good  with 
that  heavily  charged  arm.  I  wish  he  would  give  us  a  little 
exhibition  of  how  close  he  can  shoot  with  my  gun,  It's  sup- 
posed to  be  a  more  accurate  weapon." 


354         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"No,  thank  you,"  spoke  up  Ware.  "I  couldn't  hit  a 
flock  of  feather  pillers  with  your  gun.  You  see,  I  shoot  by 
throw,  and  I'm  used  to  the  balance  of  my  gun." 

Thorne  finished  making  some  notes. 

"  All  right,  boys,"  he  said,  sr cpping  shut  his  book.  "  We'll 
go  down  to  headquarters  next." 


IV 

ON  THE  way  down  the  narrow  trail  Bob  found  himself 
near  the  two  men  from  his  own  camp.  He  chaffed 
them  good-humouredly  over  their  lack  of  skill  in  the 
contests,  to  which  they  replied  in  the  same  spirit. 

Arrived  at  camp,  Thorne  turned  to  face  his  followers,  who 
gathered  in  a  group  to  listen. 

"Let's  have  a  little  riding,  boys,"  said  he.  "Bring  out 
a  horse  or  two  and  some  saddles.  Each  man  must  saddle 
his  horse,  circle  that  tree  down  the  road,  return,  unsaddle 
and  throw  up  both  hands  to  show  he's  done." 

Bob  was  amused  to  see  how  the  aspect  of  the  men  changed 
at  this  announcement.  The  lithe  young  fellows,  who  had 
been  looking  pretty  sober  over  the  records  they  had  made 
at  shooting,  brightened  visibly  and  ran  with  some  eagerness 
to  fetch  out  their  own  horses  and  saddles.  Some  of  the 
others  were  not  so  pleased,  notably  two  of  the  young  fellows 
from  the  valley  towns.  Still  others  remained  stolidly 
indifferent  to  a  trial  in  which  they  could  not  hope  to  compete 
with  the  professional  riders,  but  in  which  neither  would  they 
fail. 

The  results  proved  the  accuracy  of  this  reasoning.  A 
new  set  of  stars  rose  to  the  ascendant,  while  the  heroes  of  the 
upper  meadow  dropped  into  obscurity.  Most  of  the  moun- 
tain men  saddled  expeditiously  but  soberly  their  strong  and 
capable  mountain  horses,  rode  the  required  distance,  and 
unsaddled  deftly.  It  was  part  of  their  everyday  life  to  be 
able  to  do  such  things  well.  The  two  town  boys,  and,  to 
Bob's  surprise,  one  of  his  lumberjacks,  furnished  the  comic 
relief.  They  frightened  the  horses  allotted  them,  to  begin 

355 


356          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

with;  threw  the  saddles  aboard  in  a  mess  which  it  was  neces- 
sary to  untangle;  finally  clambered  on  awkwardly  and  rode 
precariously  amid  the  yells  and  laughter  of  the  spectators. 

"How  you  expect  to  be  a  ranger,  if  you  can't  ride?" 
shouted  some  one  at  the  lumberjack. 

1  'If  horses  don't  plumb  detest  me,  I  reckon  I  can  learn!" 
retorted  the  shanty  boy,  stoutly.  "This  ain't  my  game!" 

But  when  young  Pollock,  whom  Bob  recognized  as  Jim's 
oldest,  was  called  out,  the  situation  was  altered.  He  appeared 
leading  a  beautiful,  half-broken  bay,  that  snorted  and 
planted  its  feet  and  danced  away  from  the  unaccustomed 
crowd.  Nevertheless  the  lad,  as  impassive  as  an  image, 
held  him  well  in  hand,  awaiting  Thome's  signal. 

"Go!"  called  the  Supervisor,  his  eyes  on  his  watch. 

The  boy,  still  grasping  the  hackamore  in  his  left  hand, 
with  his  right  threw  the  saddle  blanket  over  the  animal's 
back.  Stooping  again,  he  seized  the  heavy  stock  saddle  by 
the  horn,  flipped  it  high  in  the  air,  and  brought  it  across  the 
horse  with  so  skilful  a  jerk  that  not  only  did  the  skirts, 
the  heavy  stirrup  and  the  horsehair  cinch  fall  properly,  but 
the  cinch  itself  swung  so  far  under  the  horse's  belly  that 
young  Pollock  was  able  to  catch  it  deftly  before  it  swung 
back.  To  thrust  the  broad  latigo  through  the  rings,  jerk 
it  tight,  and  fasten  it  securely  was  the  work  of  an  instant. 
With  a  yell  to  his  horse  the  boy  sprang  into  the  saddle.  The 
animal  bounded  forward,  snorting  and  buck-plunging,  his 
eye  wild,  his  nostril  wide.  Flung  with  apparent  carelessness 
in  the  saddle,  the  rider,  his  body  swaying  and  bending  and 
giving  gracefully  to  every  bound,  waved  his  broad  hat, 
uttering  shrill  yips  of  encouragement  and  admonition  to  his 
mount.  The  horse  straightened  out  and  thundered  swift 
as  an  arrow  toward  the  tree  that  marked  the  turning  point. 
'With  unslackened  gait,  with  loosened  rein,  he  swept  fairly 
to  the  tree.  It  seemed  to  Bob  that  surely  the  lad  must  over- 
shoot the  mark  by  many  yards.  But  at  the  last  instant 
the  rider  swayed  backward  and  sidewise;  the  horse  set  his 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          357 

feet,  plunged  mightily  thrice,  threw  up  a  great  cloud  of  dust, 
and  was  racing  back  almost  before  the  spectators  could 
adjust  their  eyes  to  the  change  of  movement.  Straight  to 
the  group  horse  and  rider  raced  at  top  speed,  until  the  more 
inexperienced  instinctively  ducked  aside.  But  in  time  the 
horse  sat  back,  slid  and  plunged  ten  feet  in  a  spray  of  dust 
and  pine  needles,  to  come  to  a  quivering  halt.  Even  before 
that  young  Pollock  had  thrown  himself  from  the  saddle. 
Three  jerks  ripped  that  article  of  furniture  from  its  place  to 
the  earth.  The  boy,  with  an  engaging  gleam  of  teeth,  threw 
up  both  hands. 

It  was  flash-riding,  of  course;  but  flash-riding  at  its  best. 
And  how  the  boys  enjoyed  it!  Now  the  little  group  of 
"buckeroos,"  heretofore  rather  shyly  in  the  background, 
shone  forth  in  full  glory. 

"  Now  let's  see  how  good  you  are  at  packing,"  said  Thome, 
when  the  last  man  had  done  his  best  or  worst.  "  Jack,"  he 
told  young  Pollock,  "you  go  up  in  the  pasture  and  catch  me 
up  that  old  white  pack  mare.  She's  warranted  to  stand  like 
erock." 

While  the  boy  was  gone  on  this  errand,  Thorne  rummaged 
the  camp.  Finally  he  laid  out  on  the  ground  about  a  peck  of 
loose  potatoes,  miscellaneous  provisions,  a  kettle,  frying- 
pan,  coffee-pot,  tin  plates,  cutler}7,  a  single  sack  of  barley,  a 
pick  and  shovel,  and  a  coil  of  rope. 

"That  looks  like  a  reasonable  camp  outfit,"  remarked 
Thorne.  "  Just  throw  one  of  those  pack  saddles  on  her,"  he 
told  Jack  Pollock,  who  led  up  the  white  mare.  "Now  you 
boys  all  retire;  you  mustn't  have  a  chance  to  learn  from  the 
other  fellow.  Hicks,  you  stay.  Now  pack  that  stuff  on  that 
horse.  I'll  time  you." 

Hicks  looked  about  him. 

"Where's  the  kyacks?"*  he  demanded. 

"You  don't  get  any  kyacks,"  stated  Thorne  crisply. 

"Got  to  pack  all  that  stuff  without  'em?" 

*  Kyacks  —  pack  sacks  slung  either  side  the  pack  saddle. 


358         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Sure." 

Hicks  set  methodically  to  work,  gathering  up  the  loose 
articles,  thrusting  them  into  sacks,  lashing  the  sacks  on  the 
cross  buck  saddle.  At  the  end  of  a  half- hour,  he  stepped  back. 

"That  might  ride  —  for  a  while,"  said  Thorne. 

"I  never  pack  without  kyacks,"  said  Hicks. 

"So  I  see.  Well,  sit  down  and  watch  the  rest  of  them. 
Ware!"  Thorne  shouted. 

The  prospector  disengaged  himself  from  the  sprawling 
and  distant  group. 

"Throw  those  things  off,  and  empty  out  those  bags," 
ordered  Thorne.  "  Now,  there's  your  camp  outfit.  Pack  it, 
as  fast  as  you  can." 

Ware  set  to  work,  also  deliberately,  it  seemed.  He  threw 
a  sling,  packed  on  his  articles,  and  over  it  all  drew  the  dia- 
mond hitch. 

"Reckon  that'll  travel,"  he  observed,  stepping  back. 

"Good  pack,"  commended  Thorne  briefly,  as  he  glanced 
at  his  watch.  "Eleven  minutes." 

"Eleven  minutes!"  echoed  Bob  to  California  John,  who 
sat  near,  "and  the  other  man  took  thirty-five!  Impossible! 
Ware  didn't  hurry  any;  he  moved,  if  anything,  slower  than 
the  other  man." 

"He  didn't  make  no  moves  twice,"  pointed  out  California 
John.  "He  knows  how.  This  no-kyack  business  is  going 
to  puzzle  plenty  of  those  boys  who  can  do  good,  ordinary 
packing." 

"  It's  near  noon,"  Thorne  was  saying;  "  we  haven't  time  for 
another  of  those  duffers.  I'll  just  call  up  your  partner,  Ware, 
and  we'll  knock  off  for  dinner." 

The  partner  did  as  well,  or  even  a  little  better,  for  the 
watch  credited  him  with  ten  and  one-half  minutes,  whereupon 
he  chaffed  Ware  hugely.  Then  the  pack  horse  was  led  to  a 
patiently  earned  feed,  while  the  little  group  of  rangers,  with 
Thorne,  his  sister  and  Bob,  moved  slowly  toward  headquar- 
ters. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          359 

"That's  all  this  morning,  boys,"  he  told  the  waiting 
group  as  they  passed  it.  "  This  afternoon  we'll  double  up  a  bit. 
The  rest  of  you  can  all  take  a  try  at  the  packing,  but  at  the 
same  time  we'll  see  who  can  cut  down  a  tree  quickest  and  best." 

"Stop  and  eat  lunch  with  us,"  Amy  was  urging  Bob. 
"It's  only  a  cold  one  —  not  even  tea.  I  didn't  want  to  miss 
the  show.  So  it's  no  bother." 

They  all  turned  to  and  set  the  table  under  the  open. 

"This  is  great  fun,"  said  Bob  gratefully,  as  they  sat  down. 
"Good  as  a  field  day.  When  do  you  expect  to  begin  your 
examinations?  That's  what  these  fellows  are  here  for,  isn't 
it?" 

He  looked  up  to  catch  both  Thorne  and  Amy  looking  on 
him  with  a  comically  hopeless  air. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say!"  cried  Bob,  a  light  breaking  in 
on  him.  " — of  course!  I  never  thought " 

"What  do  you  suppose  we  would  examine  candidates  for 
Forest  Ranger  in  —  higher  mathematics?"  demanded  Amy. 

"Now  that's  practical  —  that's  got  some  sense!"  cried 
Bob  enthusiastically. 

Thorne,  with  a  whimsical  smile,  held  up  his  finger  for 
silence.  Through  the  thin  screen  of  azalea  bushes  that 
fringed  this  open-air  dining  room  Bob  saw  two  men  approach- 
ing down  the  forest.  They  were  evidently  unaware  of  obser- 
vation. With  considerable  circumspection  they  drew  near 
and  disappeared  within  the  little  tool  house.  Bob  recognized 
the  two  lumberjacks  from  his  own  camp. 

"What  are  those  fellows  after?"  he  demanded  indignantly. 

But  Thorne  again  motioned  for  caution. 

"I  suspect,"  said  Thorne  in  a  low  voice.  "Go  on  eating 
your  lunch.  We'll  see." 

The  men  were  inside  the  tool  house  for  some  time.  When 
they  reappeared,  each  carried  an  axe.  They  looked  about 
them  cautiously.  No  one  was  in  sight.  Then  they  thrust 
the  axes  underneath  a  log,  and  disappeared  in  the  direction 
of  their  own  camp. 


360          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Thorne  laughed  aloud. 

"The  old  foxes!"  said  he.  "I'll  bet  anything  you  please 
that  we'll  find  the  two  best-balanced  axes  the  Government 
owns  under  that  log." 

Such  proved  to  be  the  case.  Furthermore,  the  implements 
had  been  ground  to  a  razor  edge. 

"When  I  mentioned  tree  cutting,  I  saw  their  eyes  light  up," 
said  Thorne.  "It's  always  interesting  in  a  crowd  of  can- 
didates like  this  to  see  every  man  cheer  up  when  his  spec- 
ialty comes  along."  He  chuckled.  "Wait  till  I  spring  the 
written  examinations  on  them.  Then  you'll  see  them  droop." 

"  What  else  is  there  ?  "  asked  Bob. 

"Well,  I'll  organize  regular  survey  groups  —  compass- 
man,  axe-man,  rod-man,  chain-men  —  and  let  them  run 
lines;  and  I'll  make  them  estimate  timber,  and  make  a  sketch 
map  or  so.  It's  all  practical.  " 

"I  should  think  so!"  cried  Bob.  "I  wonder  if  I  could 
pass  it  myself."  He  laughed.  "  I  should  hate  to  tackle  tying 
those  things  on  that  horse  —  even  after  seeing  those  pros- 
pectors do  it!" 

"Most  of  them  will  go  a  little  slow.  They're  used  to 
kyacks.  But  you'd  have  your  specialty." 

"What  would  it  be?"  asked  Amy  curiously  of  Bob. 

The  young  man  shook  his  head. 

"You  haven't  got  some  nice  scrappy  little  job,  have  you?" 
he  asked,  "where  I  can  tell  people  to  hop  high?  That's 
about  all  I'm  good  for." 

"We  might  even  have  that,"  said  Thorne,  eyeing  the  young 
man's  proportions. 


V 

BOB  saw  that  afternoon  the  chopping  contest.    Thorne 
assigned  to  each  a  tree  some  eighteen  or  twenty  inches 
in  diameter,  selecting  those  whose  loss  would  aid 
rather  than  deplete  the  timber  stand,  and  also,  it  must  be 
confessed,  those  whose  close  proximity  to  others  might  make 
axe  swinging  awkward.     About  twenty  feet  from  the  base 
of  each  tree  he  placed  upright  in  the  earth  a  sharpened 
stake.   This,  he  informed  the  axe-man,  must  be  driven  by  the 
fall  of  the  tree. 

As  in  the  previous  contests,  three  classes  of  performers 
quickly  manifested  themselves  —  the  expert,  the  man  of 
workmanlike  skill,  and  the  absolute  duffer.  The  lumber- 
jacks produced  the  implements  they  had  that  noon  so  care- 
fully ground  to  an  edge.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  them  at 
work.  To  all  appearance  they  struck  easily,  yet  each  stroke 
buried  half  the  blade.  The  less  experienced  were  inclined 
to  put  a  great  deal  of  swift  power  in  the  back  swing,  to  throw 
too  much  strength  into  the  beginning  of  the  down  stroke. 
The  lumberjacks  drew  back  quite  deliberately,  swung  for- 
ward almost  lazily.  But  the  power  constantly  increased, 
until  the  axe  met  the  wood  in  a  mighty  swish  and  whack. 
And  each  stroke  fell  in  the  gash  of  the  one  previous.  Meth- 
odically they  opened  the  "kerf,"  each  face  almost  as  smooth 
as  though  it  had  been  sawn.  At  the  finish  they  left  the  last 
fibres  on  one  side  or  another,  according  as  they  wanted  to 
twist  the  direction  of  the  tree's  fall.  Then  the  trunk  crashed 
down  across  the  stake  driven  in  the  ground. 

The  mountaineers,  accustomed  to  the  use  of  the  axe  in  their 
backwoods  work,  did  a  workmanlike  but  not  expert  job  on 


362          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

their  respective  trees.  They  felled  their  trees  accurately 
over  the  mark,  and  their  axe  work  was  fairly  clean,  but  it 
took  them  some  time  to  finish  the  job. 

But  some  of  the  others  made  heavy  weather.  Young 
Elliott  was  the  worst.  It  was  soon  evident  that  he  had  prob- 
ably never  had  any  but  a  possible  and  casual  wood-pile  axe 
in  his  hand  before.  The  axe  rarely  hit  twice  in  the  same 
place;  its  edge  had  apparently  no  cutting  power;  the  handle 
seemed  to  be  animated  with  a  most  diabolical  tendency  to 
twist  in  mid- air.  Bob,  with  the  wisdom  of  the  woods,  with- 
drew to  a  safe  distance.  The  others  followed. 

Long  after  the  others  had  finished,  poor  Elliott  hacked 
away.  He  seemed  to  have  no  definite  idea  of  possible  system. 
All  he  seemed  to  be  trying  to  do  was  to  accomplish  some  kind 
of  a  hole  in  that  tree.  The  chips  he  cut  away  were  small  and 
ragged;  the  gash  in  the  side. of  the  tree  was  long  and  irregular. 

"  Looks  like  some  thin'  had  set  out  to  chaw  that  tree  down!" 
drawled  a  mountain  man  to  his  neighbour. 

But  when  the  tree  finally  tottered  and  crashed  to  the  ground 
it  fairly  centred  the  direction  stake ! 

The  bystanders  stared;  then  catching  the  expression  of 
ludicrous  astonishment  on  Elliott's  face,  broke  into  appre- 
ciative laughter. 

"I'm  as  much  surprised  as  you  are,  boys,"  said  Elliott, 
showing  the  palms  of  his  hands,  on  which  were  two  blisters. 

"The  little  cuss  is  game,  anyhow,"  muttered  California 
John  to  Thorne. 

"It  was  an  awful  job,"  confided  the  other;  "but  I  marked 
him  something  on  it  because  he  stayed  with  it  so  well." 

Toward  sunset  Bob  said  farewell,  expressing  many  regrets 
that  he  could  not  return  on  the  morrow  to  see  the  rest  of  the 
examinations.  He  rode  back  through  the  forest,  thoughtfully 
inclined.  The  first  taste  of  the  Western  joy  of  mere  existence 
was  passing  with  him.  He  was  beginning  to  look  upon  his 
life,  and  ask  of  it  the  why.  To  be  sure,  he  could  tell  him- 
self that  his  day's  work  was  well  done,  and  that  this  should 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          363 

suffice  any  man;  that  he  was  an  integral  part  of  the  economic 
machine;  that  in  comparison  with  the  average  young  man 
of  his  age  he  had  made  his  way  with  extraordinary  success; 
that  his  responsibilities  were  sufficient  to  keep  him  busy 
and  happy;  that  men  depended  on  him  —  all  the  reasons 
that  philosophy  or  acquiescence  in  the  plan  of  !;.fe  ultimately 
bring  to  a  man.  But  these  did  not  satisfy  the  uneasiness  of 
his  spirit.  He  was  too  young  to  settle  down  to  a  routine;  he 
was  too  intellectually  restless  to  be  contented  with  reiterations, 
however  varied,  of  that  which  he  had  seen  through  and 
around.  It  was  the  old  defect  —  or  glory  —  of  his  char- 
acter; the  quality  that  had  caused  him  more  anxiety,  more 
self-reproach,  more  bitterness  of  soul  than  any  other,  the 
Rolling  Stone  spirit  that  —  though  now  he  could  not  see  it  — 
even  if  it  gathered  no  moss  of  respectable  achievement,  might 
carry  him  far. 

So  as  he  rode  he  peered  into  the  scheme  of  things  for  the 
final  satisfaction.  In  what  did  it  lie  ?  Not  for  him  in  mere 
activity,  nor  in  the  accomplishment  of  the  world's  work,  no 
matter  how  variedly  picturesque  his  particular  share  of  it 
might  be.  He  felt  his  interest  ebbing,  his  spirit  restless  at  its 
moorings.  The  days  passed.  He  arose  in  the  morning: 
and  it  was  night!  Four  years  ago  he  had  come  to  California. 
It  seemed  but  yesterday.  The  days  were  past,  gone,  used. 
Of  it  all  what  had  he  retained  ?  The  years  had  run  like  sea 
sands  between  his  fingers,  and  not  a  grain  of  them  remained 
in  his  grasp.  A  little  money  was  there,  a  little  knowledge, 
a  little  experience  —  but  what  toward  the  final  satisfaction, 
the  justification  of  a  man's  life?  Bob  was  still  too  young, 
too  individualistic  to  consider  the  doctrine  of  the  day's  work 
well  done  as  the  explanation  and  justification  of  all.  The 
coming  years  would  pass  as  quickly,  leaving  as  little  behind. 
Never  so  poignantly  had  he  felt  the  insistence  of  the  carpe 
diem.  It  was  necessary  that  he  find  a  reality,  something  he 
could  winnow  from  the  years  as  fine  gold  from  sand,  so  that 
he  could  lay  his  hand  on  the  treasure  and  say  to  his  soul: 


364          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"This  much  have  I  accomplished."  Bob  had  learned  well 
the  American  lesson:  that  the  idler  is  to  be  scorned;  that  a 
true  man  must  use  his  powers,  must  work;  that  he  must  suc- 
ceed. Now  he  was  taking  the  next  step  spiritually.  How 
does  a  man  really  use  his  powers?  What  is  success? 

Troubled  by  this  spiritual  unrest,  the  analysis  of  which, 
even  the  nature  of  which  was  still  beyond  him,  he  arrived 
at  camp.  The  familiar  objects  fretted  on  his  mood.  For 
the  moment  all  the  grateful  feeling  of  power  over  under- 
standing and  manipulating  this  complicated  machinery  of 
industry  had  left  him.  He  saw  only  the  wheel  in  which  these 
activities  turned,  and  himself  bound  to  it.  In  this  truly 
Buddhistic  frame  of  mind  he  returned  to  his  quarters. 

There,  to  his  vague  annoyance,  he  found  Baker.  Usually 
the  liveliness  of  that  able  young  citizen  was  welcome,  but 
to-night  it  grated. 

"Well,  Gentle  Stranger,"  sang  out  the  power  man,  "what 
jungle  have  you  been  lurking  in  ?  I  laboured  in  about  three 
and  went  all  over  the  works  looking  for  you." 

"  I've  been  over  watching  the  ranger  examinations  at  their 
headquarters,"  said  Bob.  "It's  pretty  good  fun." 

Baker  leaned  forward. 

"Have  you  heard  the  latest  dope?"  he  demanded. 

"What  sort?" 

"They're  trying  to  soak  us,  now.  Want  to  charge  us  so 
much  per  horse  power!  Now  what  do  you  think  of  that!" 

"  Can't  you  pay  it?"  asked  Bob. 

"  Great  guns!  Why  should  we  pay  it?"  demanded  Baker. 
"It's  the  public  domain,  isn't  it?  First  they  take  away  the 
settler's  right  to  take  up  public  land  in  his  own  state,  and 
now  they  want  to  charge,  actually  charge  the  public  for  what's 
its  own." 

But  Bob,  a  new  light  shining  in  his  eyes,  refused  to  become 
heated. 

"Well,"  he  asked  deliberately,  "who  is  the  public, 
anyhow?" 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          365 

Baker  stared  at  him,  one  chubby  hand  on  each  fat  knee. 

"Why,  everybody,"  said  he;  "the  people  who  can  make 
use  of  it.  You  and  I  and  the  other  fellow." 

"  Especially  the  other  fellow,"  put  in  Bob  drily. 

Baker  chuckled. 

"It's  like  any  business,"  said  he.  "First-come  collect 
at  the  ticket  office  for  his  business  foresight.  But  we'll  try 
out  this  hold-up  before  we  lie  down  and  roll  over." 

"Why  shouldn't  you  pay?"  demanded  Bob  again.  "You 
get  your  value,  don't  you  ?  The  Forest  Service  protects  your 
watershed,  and  that's  where  you  get  your  water.  Why 
shouldn't  you  pay  for  that  service,  just  the  same  as  you  pay 
for  a  night  watchman  at  your  works?" 

"Watershed!"  snorted  Baker.  "Rot!  If  every  stick 
of  timber  was  cleaned  off  these  mountains,  I'd  get  the  water 
just  the  same."* 

"Baker,"  said  Bob  to  this.  "You  go  and  take  a  long, 
long  look  at  your  bathroom  sponge  in  action,  and  then  come 
back  and  I'll  talk  to  you." 

Baker  contemplated  his  friend  for  a  full  ten  seconds. 
Then  his  fat,  pugnacious  face  wrinkled  into  a  grin. 

" Stung  on  the  ear  by  a  wasp!"  he  cried,  with  a  great  shout 
of  appreciation.  "You  merry,  merry  little  josher!  You 
had  me  going  for  about  five  minutes." 

Bob  let  it  go  at  that. 

"  I  suppose  you  won't  be  able  to  pay  over  twenty  per  cent, 
this  next  year,  then?"  he  inquired,  with  an  amused 
expression. 

"Twenty  per  cent.!"  cried  Baker  rolling  his  eyes  up. 
"It's  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  dig  up  for  improvements  and 
bond  interest  and  the  preferred." 

"Not  to  mention  the  president's  salary,"  amended  Bob. 

"But  I've  got  'em  where  they  live,"  went  on  Baker,  com- 
placently, without  attention  to  this.  "You  don't  catch 

*  Extraordinary  as  it  may  seem  to  the  modern  reader,  this  sentiment  —  or  this  ignorance 
—  was  at  that  time  sincerely  entertained  by  men  as  influential,  as  powerful,  and  as  closely 
interested  in  water  power  as  Baker  is  here  depicted. 


366         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Little  Willie  scattering  shekels  when  he  can  just  as  well  keep 
kopecks.  They've  left  a  little  joker  in  the  pack."  He 
produced  a  paper-covered  copy  of  the  new  regulations,  later 
called  the  Use  Book.  "They've  swiped  about  everything 
in  sight  for  these  pestiferous  reserves,  but  they  encourage  the 
honest  prospector.  'Let  us  develop  the  mineral  wealth/ 
says  they.  So  these  forests  are  still  open  for  taking  up  under 
the  mineral  act.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  make  a  '  discovery/ 
and  stake  out  your  claim;  and  there  you  are!" 

"All  the  mineral's  been  taken  up  long  ago,"  Bob  pointed 
out. 

"All  the  valuable  mineral,"  corrected  Baker.  "But  it's 
sufficient,  so  Erbe  tells  rne,  to  discover  a  ledge.  Ledges? 
Hell!  They're  easier  to  find  than  an  old  maid  at  a  sewing 
circle!  That's  what  the  country  is  made  of  —  ledges! 
You  can  dig  one  out  every  ten  feet.  Well,  I've  got  people 
out  finding  ledges,  and  filing  on  them." 

"Can  you  do  that?"  asked  3ob. 

"I  am  doing  it." 

"I  mean  legally." 

"Oh,  this  bunch  of  prospectors  files  on  the  claims,  and 
gets  them  patented.  Then  it's  nobody's  business  what  they 
do  with  their  own  property.  So  they  just  sell  it  to  me." 

"That's  colonizing,"  objected  Bob.     "You'll  get  nailed." 

"Not  on  your  tintype,  it  isn't.  I  don't  furnish  a  cent. 
They  do  it  all  on  their  own  money.  Oldham's  got  the  whole 
matter  in  hand.  When  we  get  the  deal  through,  we'll  have 
about  two  hundred  thousand  acres  all  around  the  head- 
waters; and  then  these  blood-sucking,  red-tape,  autocratic 
slobs  can  go  to  thunder." 

Baker  leaned  forward  impressively. 

"Got  to  spring  it  all  at  once,"  said  he,  "otherwise  there'll 
be  outsiders  in,  thinking  there's  a  strike  been  made  —  also 
they'll  get  inquisitive.  It's  a  great  chance.  And,  Orde, 
my  son,  there's  a  few  claims  up  there  that  will  assay  about 
sixty  thousand  board  feet  to  the  acre.  What  do  you  think 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          367 

of  it  for  a  young  and  active  lumberman  ?  I'm  going  to  talk 
it  over  with  Welton.  It's  a  grand  little  scheme.  Wonder 
how  that  will  hit  our  old  friend,  Thome?" 

Bob  rose  yawning. 

"I'm  tired.  Going  to  turn  in,"  said  he.  "Thome  isn't 
a  bad  sort." 

"He's  one  of  these  damn  theorists,  that's  what  he  is,"  said 
Baker;  "and  he's  got  a  little  authority,  and  he's  doing  just 
as  much  as  he  can  to  unsettle  business  and  hinder  the  legiti- 
mate development  of  the  country."  He  relaxed  his  earnest- 
ness with  another  grin.  "Stung  again.  That's  two  rises 
you  got  out  of  me,"  he  remarked.  "Say,  Orde,  don't  get 
persuaded  to  turn  ranger.  I  hear  they've  boosted  their 
salaries  to  ninety  a  month.  Must  be  a  temptation  I" 


VI 

BOB  arose  rather  early  the  following  Sunday,  snatched 
a  hasty  breakfast  and  departed.  Baker  had  been 
in  camp  three  days.  All  at  once  Bob  had  taken  the 
young  man  in  strong  distaste.  Baker  amused  him,  com- 
manded his  admiration  for  undoubted  executive  ability  and 
a  force  of  character  so  dynamic  as  to  be  almost  brutal.  In  a 
more  social  environment  Bob  would  still  have  found  him 
a  mighty  pleasant  fellow,  generous,  open-hearted,  and  loyal 
to  his  personal  friends.  But  just  now  his  methods  chafed 
on  the  sensitiveness  of  Bob's  new  unrest.  Baker  was  worth 
probably  a  couple  of  million  dollars,  and  controlled  ten 
times  that.  He  had  now  a  fine  house  in  Fremont,  where 
he  had  chosen  to  live,  a  pretty  wife,  two  attractive  children 
and  a  wide  circle  of  friends.  Life  was  very  good  to  him. 

And  yet,  in  the  perversity  and  the  clairvoyance  of  his 
mood,  Bob  thought  to  see  in  Baker's  life  something  of  that 
same  emptiness  of  final  achievement  he  faced  in  his  own. 
This  was  absurd,  but  the  feeling  of  it  persisted.  Thorne, 
with  his  miserable  eighteen  hundred  a  year,  and  his  glowing 
enthusiasm  and  quick  interest  seemed  to  him  more  worth 
while.  Why?  It  was  absurd;  but  this  feeling,  too, 
persisted. 

Bob  was  a  healthy  young  fellow,  a  man  of  action  rather 
than  of  introspection,  but  now  the  hereditary  twist  of  his 
character  drove  him  to  attempt  analysis.  He  arrived  at 
nothing.  Both  Baker  and  Thorne  seemed  to  stand  on  one 
ground  —  each  was  satisfied,  neither  felt  that  lack  of  the  ful- 
filling content  Bob  was  so  keenly  experiencing.  But  the 
streak  of  feminine  divination  Bob  had  inherited  from  his 

368 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME         369 

mother  made  him  understand  —  or  made  him  think  to 
understand  — •  that  Baker's  satisfaction  was  taken  because 
he  did  not  see,  while  Thome  was  working  with  his  eyes  open 
and  a  full  sense  of  values.  This  vague  glimpse  Bob  gained 
only  partially  and  at  length.  It  rather  opened  to  him 
new  vistas  of  spiritual  perplexity  than  offered  to  him  any 
solution. 

He  paced  rapidly  down  the  length  of  the  lake  —  whereon 
Che  battered  but  efficient  towing  launch  lay  idle  for  Sunday 
—  to  the  Lake  Meadow.  This  was,  as  usual,  surrounded 
by  hundreds  of  campers  of  all  classes.  Bob  was  known  to 
all  of  them,  of  course;  and  he,  in  turn,  had  at  least  such  a 
nodding  acquaintance  with  them  that  he  could  recognize 
any  accretions  to  their  members.  Near  the  lower  end  of 
the  meadow,  beneath  a  group  of  a  dozen  noble  firs,  he  caught 
sight  of  newcomers,  and  so  strolled  down  that  way  to  see 
what  they  could  be  like. 

He  found  pomp  and  circumstance.  An  enclosure  had 
been  roped  off  to  exclude  the  stock  grazing  at  large  in  the 
meadow.  Three  tents  had  been  erected.  They  were 
made  of  a  very  light,  shiny,  expensive-looking  material 
with  fringes  along  the  walls,  flies  overhead  and  stretched 
in  front,  sod  cloths  before  the  entrances.  Three  gaily 
painted  wooden  rocking  chairs,  an  equally  gaudy  hammock, 
a  table  flanked  with  benches,  a  big  cooking  stove  in  the  rear, 
canvas  pockets  hung  from  the  trees  —  a  dozen  and  one 
other  conveniences  and  luxuries  bespoke  the  occupants  as 
well-to-do  and  determined  to  be  comfortable.  Two 
Japanese  servants  dressed  all  in  white  moved  silently  and 
mysteriously  in  the  background,  a  final  touch  of  incongruity 
in  a  rough  country. 

Before  Bob  had  moved  on,  two  men  stepped  into  view 
from  the  interior  of  one  of  the  tents.  They  paced  slowly 
to  the  gaudy  rocking  chairs  and  sat  down.  In  their  progress 
they  exhibited  that  peculiar,  careless  but  conscious  delibera- 
tion of  gait  affected  everywhere  by  those  accustomed  to 


370         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

appearing  in  public.  In  their  seating  of  themselves,  their 
producing  of  cigars,  their  puffings  thereon,  was  the  same 
studied  ignoring  of  observation;  a  manner  which,  it  must 
be  acknowledged,  becomes  second  nature  to  those  forced 
to  its  adoption.  It  was  a  certain  blown  impressiveness,  a 
significance  in  the  smallest  movements,  a  self-importance, 
in  short,  too  large  for  the  affairs  of  any  private  citizen.  It  is 
to  be  seen  in  those  who  sit  in  high  places,  in  clergy,  actors 
off  the  boards,  magistrates,  and  people  behind  shop  windows 
demonstrating  things  to  street  crowds.  Bob's  first  thought 
was  of  amusement  that  this  elaborate  unconsciousness  of 
his  lone  presence  should  be  worth  while;  his  second  a  realiza- 
tion that  his  presence  or  the  presence  of  any  one  else  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  He  wondered,  as  we  all  wonder  at 
times,  whether  these  men  acted  any  differently  when  alone 
and  in  utter  privacy,  whether  they  brushed  their  teeth  and 
bathed  with  all  the  dignity  of  the  public  man. 

The  smaller,  but  evidently  more  important  of  these  men, 
wore  a  complete  camping  costume.  His  hat  was  very  wide 
and  stiff  of  brim  and  had  a  woven  band  of  horsehair;  his 
neckerchief  was  ve*>  red  and  worn  bib  fashion  in  the  way 
Bob  had  come  to  believe  that  no  one  ever  wore  a  neckerchief 
save  in  Western  plays  and  the  illustrations  of  Western  stories; 
his  shirt  was  of  thick  blue  flannel,  thrown  wide  open  at  the 
throat;  his  belt  was  very  wide  and  of  carved  leather;  his 
breeches  were  of  khaki,  but  bagged  above  and  fitted  close 
below  the  knee  into  the  most  marvellous  laced  boots,  with 
leather  flaps,  belt  lacings,  and  rows  of  hobnails  with  which 
to  make  tracks.  Bob  estimated  these  must  weigh  at  least 
three  pounds  apiece.  The  man  wore  a  little  pointed  beard 
and  eyeglasses.  About  him  Bob  recognized  a  puzzling 
familiarity.  He  could  not  place  it,  however,  but  finally 
decided  he  must  have  carried  over  a  recollection  from  a 
tailor's  fashion  plate  of  the  Correct  Thing  for  Camping. 

The  other  man  was  taller,  heavier,  but  not  near  so  impres- 
sive. His  form  was  awkward,  his  face  homely,  his  ears 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          371 

stuck  out  like  wings,  and  his  expression  was  that  of  the 
always-appreciated  buffoon. 

Bob  was  about  to  pass  on,  when  he  noticed  that  he  was 
not  the  only  spectator  of  all  this  ease  of  manner.  A  dozen 
of  the  campers  had  gathered,  and  were  staring  across  the 
ropes  with  quite  frank  and  unabashed  curiosity.  More 
were  coming  from  all  directions.  In  a  short  time  a  crowd 
of  several  hundred  had  collected,  and  stood,  evidently  in 
expectation.  Then,  and  only  then,  did  the  small  man 'with 
the  pointed  beard  seem  to  become  aware  of  the  presence 
of  any  one  besides  his  companion.  He  leaned  across  to 
exchange  a  few  words  with  the  latter,  after  which  he  laid 
aside  his  hat,  arose  and  advanced  to  the  rope  barrier  on 
which  he  rested  the  tips  of  his  fingers. 

"My  friends,"  he  began  in  a  nasal  but  penetrating  voice, 
that  carried  without  effort  to  every  hearer.  "I  am  not  a 
regularly  ordained  minister  of  the  gospel.  I  find,  however, 
that  there  is  none  such  among  us,  so  I  have  gathered  you 
here  together  this  morning  to  hear  a  few  words  appropriate 
to  the  day.  It  has  pleased  Providence  to  call  me  to  a  public 
position  wherein  my  person  has  become  well  known  to  you 
all;  but  that  is  an  accident  of  the  great  profession  to  which 
I  have  been  called,  and  I  bow  my  heart  in  humility  with 
the  least  and  most  lowly.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  about  myself 
this  morning,  not  because  I  consider  myself  of  importance, 
but  because  it  seems  to  me  from  my  case  a  great  lesson  may 
be  drawn." 

He  paused  to  let  his  eye  run  over  the  concourse.  Bob 
felt  the  gaze,  impersonal,  impassive,  scrutinizing,  cold,  rest 
on  him  the  barest  appreciable  flicker  of  a  moment,  and  then 
pass  on.  He  experienced  a  faint  shock,  as  though  his 
defences  had  been  tapped  against. 

"My  father,"  went  on  the  nasal  voice,  "came  to  this 
country  in  the  'sixties.  It  was  a  new  country  in  the  hands 
of  a  lazy  people.  It  needed  development,  so  my  father  was 
happy  felling  the  trees,  damming  the  streams,  building  the 


372          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

roads,  getting  possession  of  the  land.  That  was  his  job  in 
life,  and  he  did  it  well,  because  the  country  needed  it.  He 
didn't  bother  his  head  with  why  he  was  doing  it;  he  just 
thought  he  was  making  money.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
didn't  make  money;  he  died  nearly  bankrupt." 

The  orator  bowed  his  head  for  a  moment. 

"I  might  have  done  the  same  thing.  It's  all  legitimate 
business.  But  I  couldn't.  The  country  is  being  developed 
by  its  inhabitants:  work  of  that  kind  couldn't  satisfy  me. 
Why,  friends?  Because  now  it  would  be  selfish  work.  My 
father  didn't  know  it,  but  the  reason  he  was  happy  was 
because  the  work  he  was  doing  for  himself  was  also  work 
for  other  people.  You  can  see  that.  He  didn't  know  it, 
but  he  was  helping  develop  the  country.  But  it  wouldn't 
have  been  quite  so  with  me.  The  country  is  developed  in 
that  way.  If  I  did  that  kind  of  work,  I'd  be  working  for 
myself  and  nobody  else  at  all.  That  turns  out  all  right  for 
most  people,  because  they  don't  see  it:  they  do  their  duty 
as  citizens  and  good  business  men  and  fathers  and  husbands, 
and  that  ends  it.  But  I  saw  it.  I  felt  I  had  to  do  a  work 
that  would  support  me  in  the  world  —  but  it  must  be  a  work 
that  helped  humanity  too.  That  is  why,  friends,  I  am  what 
I  am.  That  a  certain  prominence  is  inevitable  to  my  position 
is  incidental  rather  than  gratifying. 

"So,  I  think,  the  lesson  to  be  drawn  is  that  each  of  us 
should  make  his  life  help  humanity,  should  conduct  his 
business  in  such  a  way  as  to  help  humanity.  Then  he'll 
be  happy." 

He  stood  for  a  moment,  then  turned  away.  The  tall, 
ungainly  man  with  the  outstanding  ears  and  the  buffoon's 
face  stepped  forward  and  whispered  eagerly  in  his  ear.  He 
listened  gravely,  but  shook  his  head.  The  tall  man  whisp- 
ered yet  more  vehemently,  at  great  length.  Finally  the 
orator  stepped  back  to  his  place. 

"  We  are  here  for  a  complete  rest  after  exhausting  labours," 
he  stated.  "We  have  looked  forward  for  months  to  undis- 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          373 

turbed  repose  amongst  these  giant  pines.  No  thought  of 
care  was  to  intrude.  But  my  colleague's  great  and  tender 
heart  has  smitten  him,  and,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  against  my 
first  inclination,  he  urges  me  to  a  course  which  I'd  have  liked 
to  avoid;  but  which,  when  he  shows  me  the  way,  I  realize 
is  the  only  decent  thing.  We  find  ourselves  in  the  midst 
of  a  community  of  some  hundreds  of  people.  It  may  be 
some  of  these  people  are  suffering,  far  from  medical  or 
surgical  help.  If  there  are  any  such,  and  the  case  is  really 
pressing,  you  understand,  we  will  be  willing,  just  for  common 
humanity,  to  do  our  best  to  relieve  them.  And  friends, " 
the  speaker  stepped  forward  until  his  body  touched  the  rope, 
and  he  was  leaning  confidentially  forth,  "it  would  be  poor 
humanity  that  would  cause  you  pain  or  give  you  inferior 
treatments.  I  am  happy  to  say  we  came  to  this  great  virgin 
wilderness  direct  with  our  baggage  from  White  Oaks  where  we 
had  been  giving  a  two  weeks'  course  of  treatments  —  mainly 
charitable.  We  have  our  instruments  and  our  medicines 
with  us  in  their  packin'  cases.  If  need  arises  —  which  I 
trust  it  will  not  —  we  will  not  hesitate  to  go  to  any  trouble 
for  you.  It  is  against  our  principles  to  give  anything  but 
our  best.  You  will  suffer  no  pain.  But  it  must  be  under- 
stood,"  he  warned  impressively.  "This  is  just  for  you,  our 
neighbours!  We  don't  want  this  news  spread  to  the  lumber 
camps  and  over  the  countryside.  We  are  here  for  a  rest. 
But  we  cannot  be  true  to  our  high  calling  and  neglect  the 
relieving  of  pain." 

The  man  bowed  slightly,  and  rejoined  his  companion  to 
whom  he  conversed  low-voiced  with  absolute  unconscious- 
ness of  the  audience  he  had  just  been  addressing  so  intimately. 
The  latter  hesitated,  then  slowly  dispersed.  Bob  stood,  his 
brows  knit,  trying  to  recall.  There  was  something  haunt- 
ingly  familiar  about  the  whole  performance.  Especially  a 
strange  nasal  emphasis  on  the  word  "pain"  struck  sharply 
a  chord  in  his  recollection.  He  looked  up  in  sudden 
enlightenment. 


374          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Painless  Porter!"  he  cried  aloud. 

The  man  looked  up  at  the  mention  of  his  name. 

"That's  my  name,"  said  he.     "What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"I  just  remembered  where  I'd  seen  you,"  explained  Bob. 

"I'm  fairly  well  known." 

Bob  approached  eagerly.  The  discourse,  hollow,  insin- 
cere, half-blasphemous,  a  buncombe  bit  of  advertising  as  it 
was,  nevertheless  contained  the  germ  of  an  essential  truth 
for  which  Bob  had  been  searching.  He  wanted  to  know  how, 
through  what  experience,  the  man  had  come  to  this  insight. 

But  his  attempts  at  conversation  met  with  a  cold  reception. 
Painless  Porter  was  too  old  a  bird  ever  to  lower  his  guard. 
He  met  the  youth  on  the  high  plane  of  professionalism, 
refused  to  utter  other  than  the  platitudinous  counters  de- 
manded by  the  occasion.  He  held  the  young  man  at  spear's 
length,  and  showed  plainly  by  the  oriinous  glitter  of  his 
eye  that  he  did  not  intend  to  be  trifled  with. 

Then  Baker's  jolly  voice  broke  in. 

"Well!  well!  well!"  he  cried.  "If  here  aren't  my  old 
friends,  Painless  Porter  and  the  Wiz !  Simple  life  for  yours, 
eh?  Back  to  beans!  What's  the  general  outline  of  this 
graft?" 

"We  have  come  camping  for  a  complete  rest,"  stated 
Waller  gravely,  his  comical  face  cast  in  lines  of  reprobation 
and  warning. 

"Whatever  it  is,  you'll  get  it,"  jibed  Baker.  "But  I'll  bet 
you  a  toothpick  it  isn't  a  rest.  What's  exhausted  you  fellows, 
anyway?  Counting  the  easy  money?" 

"Our  professional  labours  have  been  very  heavy  lately," 
spoke  up  the  painless  one. 

"What's  biting  you  fellows?"  demanded  Baker. 
"There's  nobody  here." 

Waller  indicated  Bob  by  a  barely  perceptible  jerk  of  the 
head.  Baker  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 

"Thought  you  knew  him,"  said  he.  "You  were  all 
having  such  a  love  feast  gab-fest  when  I  blew  in.  This  is 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          375 

Mr.  Orde,  who  bosses  this  place  —  and  most  of  the  country 
around  here.  If  you  want  to  do  good  to  humanity  on  this 
meadow  you'd  better  begin  by  being  good  to  him.  He 
controls  it.  He's  humanity  with  a  capital  H." 

Ten  minutes  later  the  four  men,  cigars  alight,  a  bottle 
within  reach,  were  sprawling  about  the  interior  of  one  of 
the  larger  tents.  Bob  was  enjoying  himself  hugely.  It  was 
the  first  time  he  had  ever  been  behind  the  scenes  at  this  sort 
of  game. 

"But  that  was  a  good  talk,  just  the  same,"  he  interrupted 
a  cynical  bit  of  bragging. 

"  Say,  wasn't  it ! "  cried  Porter.  "  I  got  that  out  of  a  shoutin' 
evangelist.  The  minute  I  heard  it  I  saw  where  it  was  hot 
stuff  for  my  spiel.  I'm  that  way:  I  got  that  kind  of  good 
eye.  I'll  be  going  along  the  street  and  some  little  thing'll 
happen  that  won't  amount  to  nothin'  at  all  really.  Another 
man  wouldn't  think  twice  about  it.  But  like  a  flash  it 
comes  to  me  how  it  would  fit  in  to  a  spiel.  It's  like  an 
artist  that  way  finding  things  to  put  in  a  picture.  You'd 
never  spot  a  dago  apple  peddler  as  good  for  nothing  but  to 
work  a  little  graft  on  mebbe;  but  an  artist  comes  along  and 
slaps  him  in  a  picture  and  he's  the  fanciest-looking  dope  in 
the  art  collection.  That's  me.  I  got  some  of  my  best 
spiels  from  the  funniest  places!  That  one  this  morning  is 
a  wonder,  because  it  don't  listen  like  a  spiel.  I  followed  that 
evangelist  yap  around  for  a  week  getting  his  dope  down  fine. 
You  got  to  get  the  language  just  right  on  these  things,  or 
they  don't  carry  over." 

" Which  one  is  it,  Painful?"  asked  Baker. 

"You  know;  the  make-your-work-a-good-to-humanity 
bluff." 

"And  all  about  papa  in  the  'sixties?" 

"That's  it." 

"  'And  just  don't  you  dare  tell  the  neighbours?'  " 

"Correct." 

"The    whole    mountains    will    know    all    about    it    by 


376          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

to-morrow,"  Baker  told  Bob,  "and  they'll  flock  up  here  in 
droves.  It's  easy  money." 

"Half  these  country  yaps  have  bum  teeth,  anyway,"  said 
Porter. 

"And  the  rest  of  them  think  they're  sick,"  stated  Wizard 
Waller. 

"It  beats  a  free  show  for  results  and  expense,"  said  Pain- 
less Porter.  "All  you  got  to  have  is  the  tents  and  the  Japs 
and  the  Willie-off-the-yacht  togs."  He  sighed.  "There 
ought  to  be  some  advantages,"  he  concluded,  "to  drag  a 
man  so  far  from  the  street  lights." 

"Then  this  isn't  much  of  a  pleasure  trip  ?"  asked  Bob  with 
some  amusement. 

"Pleasure,  hell!"  snorted  Painless,  helping  himself  to  a 
drink.  "Say,  honest,  how  do  you  fellows  that  have  business 
up  here  stick  it  out ?  It  gives  me  the  willies!" 

One  of  the  Japanese  peered  into  the  tent  and  made  a  sign. 

Painless  Porter  dropped  his  voice. 

"A  dope  already,"  said  he.  He  put  on  his  air,  and  went 
out.  As  Bob  and  Baker  crossed  the  enclosed  space,  they 
saw  him  in  conversation  with  a  gawky  farm  lad  from  the 
plains. 

"I  shore  do  hate  to  trouble  you,  doctor,"  the  boy  was 
saying,  "and  hit  Sunday,  too.  But  I  got  a  tooth  back 
here " 

Painless  Porter  was  listening  with  an  air  of  the  deepest 
and  gravest  attention. 


VII 

THE  charlatan  had  babbled;  but  without  knowing 
it  he  had  given  Bob  what  he  sought.  He  saw  all 
the  reasons  for  what  had  heretofore  been  obscure. 

Why  had  he  been  dissatisfied  with  business  opportuni- 
ties and  successes  beyond  the  hopes  of  most  young  men? 

How  could  he  dare  criticize  the  ultimate  value  of  such 
successes  without  criticizing  the  life  work  of  such  men  as 
Wei  ton,  as  his  own  father? 

What  right  had  he  to  condemn  as  insufficient  nine-tenths 
of  those  in  the  industrial  world;  and  yet  what  else  but  con- 
demnation did  his  attitude  of  mind  imply? 

All  these  doubts  and  questionings  were  dissipated  like 
fog.  Quite  simply  it  all  resolved  itself.  He  was  dissatis- 
fied because  this  was  not  his  work.  The  other  honest  and 
sincere  men  —  such  as  his  father  and  Welton  —  had  been 
satisfied  because  this  was  their  work.  The  old  generation, 
the  one  that  was  passing,  needed  just  that  kind  of  service 
but  the  need  too  was  passing.  Bob  belonged  to  the  new 
generation.  He  saw  that  new  things  were  to  be  demanded. 
The  old  order  was  changing.  The  modern  young  men  of 
energy  and  force  and  strong  ability  had  a  different  task 
from  that  which  their  fathers  had  accomplished.  The 
wilderness  was  subdued;  the  pioneer  work  of  industry  was 
finished;  the  hard  brute  struggle  to  shape  things  to  effi- 
ciency was  over.  It  had  been  necessary  to  get  things  done. 
Now  it  was  becoming  necessary  to  perfect  the  means  and 
methods  of  doing.  Lumber  must  still  be  cut,  streams  must 
still  be  dammed,  railroads  must  still  be  built;  but  now 
(hat  the  pioneers,  the  men  of  fire,  had  blazed  the  way  others 

377 


378          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

could  follow.  Methods  were  established.  It  was  all  a 
business,  like  the  selling  of  groceries.  The  industrial  rank 
and  file  could  attend  to  details.  The  men  who  thought  and 
struggled  and  carried  the  torch  —  they  must  go  beyond 
what  their  fathers  had  accomplished. 

Now  Bob  understood  Amy  Thome's  pride  in  the  Service. 
He  saw  the  true  basis  of  his  feeling  toward  the  Supervisor  as 
opposed  to  his  feeling  toward  Baker.  Thorne  was  in  the  cur- 
rent. With  his  pitiful  eighteen  hundred  a  year  he  was  never- 
theless swimming  strongly  in  new  waters.  His  business  went 
that  little  necessary  step  beyond.  It  not  only  earned  him 
his  living  in  the  world,  but  it  helped  the  race  movement  of 
his  people.  At  present  the  living  was  small,  just  as  at  first 
the  pioneer  opening  the  country  had  wrested  but  a  scanty 
livelihood  from  the  stubborn  wilderness;  nevertheless,  he 
could  feel  —  whether  he  stopped  to  think  it  out  or  not — 
that  his  efforts  had  that  coordination  with  the  trend  of 
humanity  which  makes  subtly  for  satisfaction  and  hap- 
piness. Bob  looked  about  the  mill  yard  with  an  under- 
standing eye.  This  work  was  necessary;  but  it  was  not 
his  work. 

Something  of  this  he  tried  to  explain  to  his  new  friends 
at  headquarters  when  next  he  found  an  opportunity  to  ride 
over.  His  explanations  were  not  very  lucid,  for  Bob  was 
no  great  hand  at  analysis.  To  any  other  audience  they 
might  have  been  absolutely  incoherent.  But  Thorne  had 
long  since  reasoned  all  this  out  for  himself;  so  he  under- 
stood; while  to  California  John  the  matter  had  always 
been  one  to  take  for  granted.  Bob  leaned  forward,  his 
earnest,  sun-browned  young  face  flushed  with  the  sincerity 
—  and  the  embarrassment  —  of  his  exposition.  Amy  nod- 
ded from  time  to  time,  her  eyes  shining,  her  glance  every 
few  moments  seeking  in  triumph  that  of  her  brother.  Cali- 
fornia John  smoked. 

Finally  Bob  put  it  squarely  to  Thome. 

"So  you'd  like  to  join  the  Service,"  said  Thorne  slowly. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME         379 

"I  suppose  you've  thought  of  the  chance  you're  giving  up? 
Welton  will  take  you  into  partnership  in  time,  of  course." 

"I  know.  It  seems  foolish.  Can't  make  it  seem  any- 
thing else,"  Bob  admitted. 

"You'd  have  to  take  your  chances,"  Thorne  persisted. 
"I  couldn't  help  you.  A  ranger's  salary  is  ninety  a  month 
now,  and  find  yourself  and  horses.  Have  you  any  private 
means?" 

"Not  enough  to  say  so." 

"There's  another  thing,"  Thorne  went  on.  "This 
forestry  of  our  government  is  destined  to  be  a  tremendous 
affair;  but  what  we  need  more  just  now  is  better  logging 
methods  among  the  private  loggers.  It  would  count  more 
than  anything  else  if  you'd  stay  just  where  you  are  and  give 
us  model  operations  in  your  own  worL" 

Bob  shook  his  head. 

"Perhaps  you  don't  know  men  like  Mr.  Welton  as  well 
as  I  do,"  said  he;  "I  couldn't  change  his  methods.  That's 
absolutely  out  oi  the  question.  And,"  he  went  on  with  a 
sudden  flash  of  loyalty  to  what  the  old-timers  had  meant, 
"I  don't  believe  I'd  want  to." 

"Not  want  to!"  cried  Amy. 

"No,"  pursued  Bob  doggedly,  "not  unless  he  could  see 
the  point  himself  and  of  his  own  accord.  He's  done  a  great 
work  in  his  time,  and  he's  grown  old  at  it.  I  wouldn't  for 
anything  in  the  world  do  anything  to  shake  his  faith  in  what 
he's  done,  even  if  he's  doing  it  wrong  now." 

"He  and  his  kind  have  always  slaughtered  the  forests 
shamefully  1"  broke  in  Amy  with  some  heat. 

"They  opened  a  new  country  for  a  new  people,"  said  Bob 
gently.  "  Perhaps  they  did  it  wastefully;  perhaps  not.  I 
notice  you've  got  to  use  lots  of  lubricating  oil  on  a  new 
machine.  But  there  was  nobody  else  to  do  it  any  different." 

"Then  you'd  let  them  go  on  wasting  and  destroying?" 
demanded  Amy  scornfully. 

"I  don't  know,"  hesitated  Bob;  "I  haven't  thought  all 


380          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

this  out.  Perhaps  I'm  not  very  much  on  the  think.  It 
seems  to  me  rather  this  way:  We've  got  to  have  lumber, 
haven't  we?  And  somebody  has  to  cut  it  and  supply  it. 
Men  like  Mr.  Welton  are  doing  it,  by  the  methods  they've 
found  effective.  They  are  working  for  the  Present; 
we  of  the  new  generation  want  to  work  for  the  Future. 
It's  a  fair  division.  Somebody's  got  to  attend  to  them 
both." 

"Well,  that's  what  I  say!"  cried  Amy.  "If  they  wouldn't 
waste  and  slash  and  leave  good  material  in  the  woods " 

Bob  smiled  whimsically. 

"  A  lumberman  doesn't  like  to  leave  things  in  the  woods," 
said  he.  "  If  somebody  will  pay  for  the  tops  and  the  needles, 
he'll  sell  them;  if  there's  a  market  for  cull  lumber,  he'll 
supply  it;  and  if  somebody  will  create  a  demand  for  knot- 
holes, he'll  invent  some  way  of  getting  them  out!  You  see 
I'm  a  lumberman  myself." 

"Why  don't  you  log  with  some  reference  to  the  future, 
then?"  demanded  Amy. 

"  Because  it  doesn't  pay,"  stated  Bob  deliberately. 

"Pay!"  cried  Amy. 

"Yes,"  said  Bob  mildly.  "Why  not?  The  lumberman 
fulfills  a  commercial  function,  like  any  one  else;  why  shouldn't 
he  be  allowed  freely  a  commercial  reward?  You  can't 
lead  a  commercial  class  by  ideals  that  absolutely  conflict 
with  commercial  motives.  If  you  want  to  introduce  your 
ideals  among  lumbermen,  you  want  to  educate  them;  and 
in  order  to  educate  them  you  must  fix  it  so  your  ideals  don't 
actually  spell  loss!  Rearrange  the  scheme  of  taxation,  for 
one  thing.  Get  your  ideas  of  fire  protection  and  conserva- 
tion on  a  practical  basis.  It's  all  very  well  to  talk  about 
how  nice  it  would  be  to  chop  up  all  the  waste  tops  and  pile 
them  like  cordwood,  and  to  scrape  together  the  twigs  and 
needles  and  burn  them.  It  would  certainly  be  neat  and 
effective.  But  can't  you  get  some  scheme  that  would  be  just 
as  effective,  but  not  so  neat  ?  It's  the  difference  between  a 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  381 

yacht  and  a  lumber  schooner.  We  can't  expect  everybody 
to  turn  right  in  and  sacrifice  themselves  to  be  philanthro- 
pists because  the  spirit  of  the  age  tells  them  they  ought  to 
be.  We've  got  to  make  it  so  easy  to  do  things  right  that 
anybody  at  all  decent  will  be  ashamed  not  to.  Then  we've 
got  to  wait  for  the  spirit  of  the  people  to  grow  to  new  things. 
It's  coming,  but  it's  not  here  yet." 

California  John,  who  had  listened  with  the  closest  atten- 
tion, slapped  his  knee. 

"Good  sense,"  said  he. 

"But  you  can  educate  people,  can't  you?"  asked  Amy, 
a  trifle  subdued  and  puzzled  by  these  practical  considera- 
tions. 

"  Some  people  can,"  agreed  Thome,  speaking  up,  "and 
they're  doing  it.  But  Mr.  Orde  is  right;  it's  only  the  spirit 
of  the  people  that  can  bring  about  new  things.  We  think 
we  have  leaders,  but  we  have  only  interpreters.  When 
the  time  is  ripe  to  change  things,  then  the  spirit  of  the  people 
rises  to  forbid  old  practices." 

"That's  it,"  said  Bob;  "I  just  couldn't  get  at  it.  Well, 
the  way  I  feel  about  it  is  that  when  all  these  new  methods 
and  principles  have  become  well  known,  then  we  can  call  a 
halt  with  some  authority.-  You  can't  condemn  a  man  for 
doing  his  best,  can  you?" 

The  girl,  at  a  loss,  flushed,  and  almost  crying,  looked  at 
them  all  helplessly. 

"But-      "  she  cried. 

"I  believe  it  will  all  come  about  in  time,"  said  Thorne. 
"There's  sure  to  come  a  time  when  it  will  not  be  too  much 
off  balance  to  require  private  firms  to  do  things  according 
to  our  methods.  Then  it  will  pay  to  log  the  government 
forests  on  an  extensive  scale;  and  private  forests  will  have 
to  come  to  our  way  of  doing  things." 

"What's  the  use  of  all  our  fights  and  strivings?"  asked 
Amy;  "what's  the  use  of  our  preaching  decent  woods  work 
if  it  can't  be  carried  out?" 


382          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"It's  educational,"  explained  Thome.  "It  starts  people 
thinking,  so  that  when  the  time  comes  they'll  be  ready." 

"Furthermore,"  put  in  Bob,  "it  fixes  it  so  these  young 
fellows  who  will  then  be  in  charge  of  private  operations 
will  have  no  earthly  excuse  to  look  at  it  wrong,  or  do  it 
wrong." 

"  It  will  then  be  the  difference  between  their  acting  accord- 
ing to  general  ideas  or  against  them,"  agreed  Thome. 

"Never  lick  a  pup  for  chasin'  rabbits  until  yore  ready  to 
teach  him  to  chase  deer,"  put  in  California  John. 


VIII 

BOB  found  it  much  more  difficult  to  approach  Welton. 
When  he  did,  he  had  to  contend  with  the  older 
man's  absolute  disbelief  in  what  he  was  saying. 
Welton  sat  down  on  a  stump  and  considered  Bob  with  a 
humorous  twinkle. 

"Want  to  quit  the  lumber  business!"  he  echoed  Bob's 
first  statement.  "  What  for  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  I'm  cut  out  for  it." 

"No?  Well,  then,  I  never  saw  anybody  that  was.  You 
don't  happen  to  need  no  more  money?" 

"Lord,  no!" 

"Of  course,  you  know  you'll  have  pretty  good  prospects, 
here "  stated  Welton  tentatively. 

"I  ^nderstand  that;  but  the  work  doesn't  satisfy  me, 
somehow:  I'm  through  with  it." 

" Getting  restless,"  surmised  Welton.  "What  you  need 
is  a  vacation.  I  forgot  we  kept  you  at  it  pretty  close  all 
last  winter.  Take  a  couple  weeks  off  and  make  a  trip 
in  back  somewheres." 

Bob  shook  his  head. 

"It  isn't  that;  I'm  sorry.  I'm  just  through  with  this. 
I  couldn't  keep  on  at  it  and  do  good  work.  I  know  that." 

"It's  a  vacation  you  need,"  insisted  Welton  chuckling, 
"  —  or  else  you're  in  love.  Isn't  that,  is  it  ?  " 

"No,"  Bob  laughed  quite  wholeheartedly.   "It  isn't  that." 

"You  haven't  got  a  better  job,  have  you?"  Welton  joked. 

Bob  considered.  "Yes;  I  believe  I  have,"  he  said  at 
last;  "at  least  I'm  hoping  to  get  it." 

Welton  looked  at  him  closely;  saw  that  he  was  in  earnest. 

383 


384          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  curtly. 

Bob,  suddenly  smitten  with  a  sense  of  the  futility  of  trying 
to  argue  out  his  point  of  view  here  in  the  woods,  drew  back. 

"Can't  tell  just  yet,"  said  he. 

Welton  climbed  down  from  the  stump;  stood  firmly  for 
a  moment,  his  sturdy  legs  apart;  then  moved  forward  down 
the  trail. 

"I'll  raise  his  ante,  whatever  it  is,"  he  said  abruptly  at 
length.  "I  don't  believe  in  it,  but  I'll  do  it.  I  need  you." 

"You've  always  treated  me  better  than  I  ever  deserved," 
said  Bob  earnestly,  "and  I'll  stay  all  summer,  or  all  next 
winter  —  until  you  feel  that  you  do  not  need  me  longer;  but 
I'm  sure  that  I  must  go." 

For  two  days  Welton  disbelieved  the  reality  of  his  inten- 
tion. For  two  days  further  he  clung  to  a  notion  that  in 
some  way  Bob  must  be  dissatisfied  with  something  tangible 
in  his  treatment.  Then,  convinced  at  last,  he  took  alarm, 
and  dropped  his  facetious  attitude. 

"Look  here,  Bob,"  said  he,  "this  isn't  quite  fair,  is  it? 
This  is  a  big  piece  of  timber.  It  needs  a  man  with  a  longer 
life  in  front  of  him  than  I  can  hope  for.  I  wanted  to  be 
able  to  think  that  in  a  few  years,  when  I  get  tired  I  could 
count  on  you  for  the  heavy  work.  It's  too  big  a  business 
for  an  old  man." 

"I'll  stay  with  you  until  you  find  that  young  man,"  said 
Bob.  "There  are  a  good  many,  trained  to  the  business, 
capable  of  handling  this  property." 

"But  nobody  like  you,  Bobby.  I've  brought  you  up 
to  my  methods.  We've  grown  up  together  at  this.  You're 
just  like  a  son  to  me."  Welton's  round,  red  face  was  puck- 
ered to  a  wistful  and  comically  pathetic  twist,  as  he  looked 
across  at  the  serious  manly  young  fellow. 

Bob  looked  away.  "That's  just  what  makes  it  hard," 
lie  managed  to  say  at  last;  "  I'd  like  to  go  on  with  you.  We've 
gotten  on  famously.  But  I  can't.  This  isn't  my  work." 

Welton  laboured  in  vain  to  induce  him  to  change  his 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          385 

mind.  Several  times  he  considered  telling  Bob  the  truth  — 
that  all  this  timber  belonged  really  to  Jack  Orde,  Bob's 
father,  and  that  his,  Welton's  interest  in  it  was  merely  that 
of  the  active  partner  in  the  industry.  But  this  his  friend 
had  expressly  forbidden.  Welton  ended  by  saying  nothing: 
about  it.  He  resolved  first  to  write  Orde. 

"You  might  tell  me  what  this  new  job  is,  though,"  he 
said  at  last,  in  apparent  acquiescence. 

Bob  hesitated.  "You  won't  understand;  and  I  won't  be 
able  to  make  you  understand,"  he  said.  "I'm  going  to  enter 
the  Forest  Service!" 

"What I"  cried  Welton,  in  blank  astonishment.  "What's 
that?" 

"I've  about  decided  to  take  sendee  as  a  ranger,"  stated 
Bob,  his  face  flushing. 

From  that  moment  all  Welton's  anxiety  seemed  to  van- 
ish. It  became  unbearably  evident  that  he  looked  on  all 
this  as  the  romance  of  youth.  Bob  felt  himself  suddenly 
reduced,  in  the  lumberman's  eyes,  to  the  status  of  the  small 
boy  who  wants  to  be  a  cowboy,  or  a  sailor,  or  an  Indian 
fighter.  Welton  looked  on  him  with  an  indulgent  eye  as 
on  one  who  would  soon  get  enough  of  it.  The  glamour  — • 
whatever  it  was  —  would  soon  wear  off;  and  then  Bob, 
his  fling  over,  would  return  to  sober,  real  business  once 
more.  All  Welton's  joviality  returned.  From  time  to 
time  he  would  throw  a  facetious  remark  in  Bob's  direction, 
when,  in  the  course  of  the  day's  work,  he  happened  to  pass. 

"It's  sure  going  to  be  fine  to  wear  a  real  tin  star  and  be  an. 
officer!" 

Or: 

"Bob,  it  sure  will  seem  scrumptious  to  ride  out  and  boss; 
the  whole  country  —  on  ninety  a  month.  Guess  I'll  join 
you." 

Or: 

"You  going  to  make  me  sweep  up  my  slashings,  or  will 
a  rake  do,  Mr.  Ranger?" 


386          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

To  these  feeble  jests  Bob  always  replied  good-naturedly. 
He  did  not  attempt  to  improve  Welton's  conception  of  his 
purposes.  That  must  come  with  time.  To  his  father,  how- 
ever, he  wrote  at  great  length;  trying  his  best  to  explain 
the  situation.  Mr.  Orde  replied  that  a  government  position 
was  always  honourable;  but  confessed  himself  disappointed 
that  his  son  had  not  more  steadfastness  of  purpose.  Wei- 
ton  received  a  reply  to  his  own  letter  by  the  same  mail. 

"I  shouldn't  tell  him  anything,"  it  read.  "Let  him  go  be 
a  ranger,  or  a  cowboy,  or  anything  else  he  wants.  He's 
still  young.  I  didn't  get  my  start  until  I  was  thirty;  and 
the  business  is  big  enough  to  wait  for  him.  You  keep  peg- 
ging along,  and  when  he  gets  enough,  he'll  come  back. 
He's  apparently  got  some  notions  of  serving  the  public,  and 
doing  good  in  the  world,  and  all  that.  We  all  get  it  at  his 
age.  By  and  by  he'll  find  out  that  tending  to  his  business 
honestly  is  about  one  man's  job." 

So,  without  active  opposition,  and  with  only  tacit  dis- 
approval, Bob  made  his  change.  Nor  was  he  received 
at  headquarters  with  any  blare  of  trumpets. 

"I'll  put  you  on  as  'temporary'  until  the  fall  examina- 
tions," said  Thorne,  "and  you  can  try  it  out.  Rangering 
is  hard  work  —  all  kinds  of  hard  work.  It  isn't  just  riding 
around,  you  know.  You'll  have  to  make  good.  You  can 
bunk  up  with  Pollock  at  the  upper  cabin.  Report  to-mor- 
row morning  with  him." 

Amy  smiled  at  him  brightly. 

"Don't  let  him  scare  you,"  said  she.  "He  thinks  it  looks 
official  to  be  an  awful  bear!" 

California  John  met  him  as  he  rode  out  the  gate.  He 
reached  out  his  gnarled  old  hand. 

"  Son,  we'll  get  him  to  send  us  sometime  to  Jack  Main's 
Canon,"  said  he. 

Bob,  who  had  been  feeling  the  least  shade  depressed, 
rode  on,  his  head  high.  Before  him  lay  the  great  mysterious 
country  where  had  penetrated  only  the  Pioneers !  Another 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          387 

century  would  build  therein  the  structures  of  its  institutions. 
Now,  like  Jack  Main's  Canon,  the  far  country  of  new  things 
was  to  be  the  field  of  his  enterprise.  In  the  future,  when 
the  new  generations  had  come,  these  things  would  all  be 
ordered  and  secure,  would  be  systematized,  their  value  con- 
ceded, their  acceptance  a  matter  of  course.  All  problems 
would  be  regulated;  all  difficulties  smoothed  away;  all 
opposition  overcome.  Then  the  officers  and  rangers  of 
that  peaceful  and  organized  service,  then  the  public  —  accept- 
ing such  things  as  they  accept  all  self-evident  truths  — 
would  look  back  on  these  beginnings  as  men  look  back 
on  romance.  They  would  recall  the  time  when,  like  knights 
errant,  armed  men  rode  abroad  on  horses  through  a  wilder- 
ness, lying  down  under  the  stars,  living  hard,  dwelling  lowly 
in  poverty,  accomplishing  with  small  means,  striving  might- 
ily, combating  the  great  elemental  nature  and  the  powers 
of  darkness  in  men,  enduring  patiently,  suffering  contempt 
and  misunderstanding  and  enmity  in  order  that  the  inheri- 
tance of  the  people  yet  to  come  might  be  assured.  He  was 
one  of  them;  he  had  the  privilege.  Suddenly  his  svirit 
felt  freed.  His  old  life  receded  swiftly.  A  new  glory  vud 
uplift  of  soul  swept  him  from  his  old  moorings. 


PART  FIVE 


NEXT  morning  Bob  was  set  to  work  with  young  Jack 
Pollock  stringing  barbed  wire  fence.  He  had  never 
done  this  before.  The  spools  of  wire  weighed  on 
him  heavily.  A  crowbar  thrust  through  the  core  made 
them  a  sort  of  axle  with  which  to  carry  it.  Thus  they  walked 
forward,  revolving  the  heavy  spool  with  the  greatest  care 
while  the  strand  of  wire  unwound  behind  them.  Every 
once  in  a  while  a  coil  would  kink,  or  buckle  back,  or  strike 
as  swiftly  and  as  viciously  as  a  snake.  The  sharp  barbs 
caught  at  their  clothing,  and  tore  Bob's  hands.  Jack  Pol- 
lock seemed  familiar  with  the  idiosyncrasies  of  the  stuff, 
for  he  suffered  little  damage.  Indeed,  he  even  found  leisure, 
as  Bob  soon  discovered,  to  scrutinize  his  companion  with  a 
covert  curiosity.  In  the  eyes  of  the  countryside,  Bob  had 
been  "fired,"  and  had  been  forced  to  take  a  job  rangering. 
When  the  entangling  strand  had  been  laid  along  the  ground 
by  the  newly  planted  cedar  posts,  it  became  necessary  to 
stretch  and  fasten  it.  Here,  too,  young  Jack  proved  him- 
self a  competent  teacher.  He  showed  Bob  how  to  get  a 
tremendous  leverage  with  the  curve  on  the  back  of  an  ordi- 
nary hammer  by  means  of  which  the  wire  was  held  taut 
until  the  staples  could  be  driven  home.  It  was  aggravating, 
nervous,  painful  work  for  one  not  accustomed  to  it.  Bob's 
hands  were  soon  cut  and  bleeding,  no  matter  how  gingerly 
he  took  hold  of  the  treacherous  wire.  To  all  his  comments, 
heated  and  otherwise,  Jack  Pollock  opposed  the  mountaineer's 
determined  inscrutability.  He  watched  Bob's  efforts  always 
in  silence  until  that  young  man  had  made  all  his  mistakes. 
Then  he  spat  carefully,  and,  with  quiet  patience,  did  it  right. 

391 


392         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Bob's  sense  of  humour  was  tickled.  With  all  his  edu- 
cation and  his  subsequent  wide  experience  and  training, 
he  stood  in  the  position  of  a  very  awkward  subordinate  to 
this  mountain  boy.  The  joke  of  it  was  that  the  matter  was 
so  entirely  his  own  choice.  In  the  normal  relations  of  indus- 
try Bob  would  have  been  the  boss  of  a  hundred  activities 
<and  twice  that  number  of  men;  while  Jack  Pollock,  at  best, 
Tvould  be  water-boy  or  fuel-purveyor  to  a  donkey  engine. 
Along  in  the  middle  of  the  morning  young  Elliott  passed 
carrying  a  crowbar  and  a  spade. 

"How'll  you  trade  jobs?"  he  called. 

"What's  yours?"  asked  Bob. 

"I'm  going  to  make  two  cedar  posts  grow  where  none 
grew  before,"  said  Elliott. 

At  noon  they  knocked  off  and  went  back  to  the  ranger 
camp  where  they  cooked  their  own  meal.  Most  of  the 
older  rangers  were  afield.  A  half-dozen  of  the  newcomers 
and  probationers  only  were  there.  Elliott,  Jack  Pollock, 
two  other  young  mountaineers,  Ware  and  one  of  the  youths 
from  the  valley  towns  had  apparently  passed  the  examin- 
ations and  filled  vacancies.  All,  with  the  exception  of 
Elliott  and  this  latter  youth  —  Curtis  by  name  —  were  old 
frauds  at  taking  care  of  themselves  in  the  woods,  so  mat- 
ters of  their  own  accord  fell  into  a  rough  system.  Some  built 
the  fire,  one  mixed  bread,  others  busied  themselves  with 
the  rest  of  the  provisions.  Elliott  rummaged  about,  and  set 
the  rough  table  with  the  battered  service.  Only  Curtis, 
seated  with  his  back  against  a  tree,  appeared  too  utterly 
exhausted  or  ignorant  to  take  hold  at  anything.  Indeed, 
he  hardly  spoke  to  his  companions,  ate  hastily,  and  disap- 
peared into  his  own  quarters  without  offering  to  help  wash 
the  dishes. 

This  task  accomplished,  the  little  group  scattered  to  its 
afternoon  work.  In  the  necessity  of  stringing  wire  without 
cutting  himself  to  ribbons,  Bob  forgot  everything,  even 
the  flight  of  time. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          393 

"I  reckon  it's  about  quittin'  time,"  Jack  observed  to 
him  at  last. 

Bob  looked  up  in  surprise.  The  sun  was  indeed  drop- 
ping low. 

"We  must  be  about  half  done,"  he  remarked,  measur- 
ing the  extent  of  the  meadow  with  his  eye. 

"Two  more  wires  to  string,"  Pollock  reminded  him. 

The  mountaineer  threw  the  grain  sack  of  staples  against 
the  last  post,  tossed  his  hammer  and  the  hatchet  with  them. 

"Hold  on,"  said  Bob.  "You  aren't  going  to  leave  them 
there?" 

"Shore,"  said  Pollock.  "We'll  have  to  begin  there 
to-morrow." 

But  Bob's  long  training  in  handling  large  bodies  of  men 
with  tools  had  developed  in  him  an  instinct  of  tool-order- 
liness. 

"Won't  do,"  he  stated  with  something  of  his  old-time 
authority  in  his  tones.  "Suppose  for  some  reason  we 
shouldn't  get  back  here  to-morrow?  That's  the  way  such 
things  get  mislaid;  and  they're  valuable." 

He  picked  up  the  hatchet  and  the  axe.  Grumbling  some- 
thing under  his  breath,  Pollock  shouldered  the  staples  and 
thrust  the  hammer  in  his  pocket. 

"It  isn't  as  if  these  things  were  ours,"  said  Bob,  realiz- 
ing that  he  had  spoken  in  an  unduly  minatory  tone. 

"That's  right,"  agreed  Jack  more  cheerfully. 

In  addition  to  the  new  men,  they  found  Ross  Fletcher  and 
Charley  Morton  at  the  camp.  The  evening  meal  was  pre- 
pared cheerfully  and  roughly,  eaten  under  a  rather  dim 
lamp.  Pipes  were  lit,  and  they  all  began  leisurely  to  clean 
up.  The  smoke  hung  low  in  the  air.  One  by  one  the  men 
dropped  back  into  their  rough,  homemade  chairs,  or  sprawled 
out  on  the  floor.  Some  one  lit  the  fire  in  the  stone  chimney, 
for  the  mountain  air  nipped  shrewdly  after  the  sun  had 
set.  A  general  relaxing  after  the  day's  work,  a  general 
cheerfulness,  a  general  dry,  chaffing  wit  took  possession  of 


394          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

them.  Two  played  cribbage  under  the  lamp.  One  wrote 
a  letter.  The  rest  gossiped  of  the  affairs  of  the  service. 
Only  in  the  corner  by  himself  young  Curtis  sat.  As  at  noon, 
he  had  had  nothing  to  say  to  any  one,  and  had  not  attempted 
to  offer  assistance  in  the  communal  work.  Bob  concluded 
he  must  be  tired  from  the  unaccustomed  labour  of  the  day. 
Bob's  own  shoulders  ached;  and  he  was  in  pretty  good 
shape,  too. 

"What  makes  me  mad,"  Ross  Fletcher's  voice  suddenly 
clove  the  murmur,  "is  the  things  we  have  to  do.  I  was 
breaking  rock  on  a  trail  all  day  to-day.  Think  of  that! 
Day  labourer's  workl  State  prison  work!" 

Bob  looked  up  in  amazement,  as  did  every  one  else. 

"When  a  man  hires  out  to  be  a  ranger,"  Ross  went  on, 
"he  don't  expect  to  be  a  carpenter,  or  a  stone  mason;  he 
expects  to  be  a  ranger!" 

Immediately  Charley  Morton  chimed  in  to  the  same 
purpose.  Bob  listened  with  a  rising  indignation.  This 
sort  of  talk  was  old,  but  he  had  not  expected  to  meet  it  here; 
it  is  the  talk  of  incompetence  against  authority  everywhere, 
of  the  sea  lawyer, -the  lumberjack,  the  soldier,  the  spoiled 
subordinate  in  all  walks  of  life.  He  had  taken  for  granted 
a  finer  sort  of  loyalty  here;  especially  from  such  men  as 
Ross  and  Charley  Morton.  His  face  flushed,  and  he  leaned 
forward  to  say  something.  Jack  Pollock  jogged  his  elbow 
fiercely. 

"Hush  up!"  the  young  mountaineer  whispered;  "cain't 
you  see  they're  tryin'  for  a  rise?" 

Bob  laughed  softly  to  himself,  and  relaxed.  He  should 
have  been  experienced  enough,  he  told  himself,  to  have 
recognized  so  obvious  and  usual  a  trick  of  all  campers. 

But  it  was  not  for  Bob,  nor  his  like,  that  Ross  was  ang- 
ling. In  fact,  he  caught  his  bite  almost  immediately.  For 
the  first  time  that  day  Curtis  woke  up  and  displayed  some 
interest. 

"That's  what  I  say!"  he  cried. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          395 

The  older  man  turned  to  him. 

"What  they  been  making  you  do  to-day,  son  ?  "  asked  Ross. 

"I've  been  digging  post  holes  up  in  those  rocks,"  said 
Curtis  indignantly. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  they  put  you  at  that?" 
demanded  Ross;  "why,  they're  supposed  to  get  Injins, 
just  cheap  dollar-a-day  Digger  Injins,  for  that  job.  And 
they  put  you  at  it!" 

"Yes,"  said  Curtis,  "they  did.  I  didn't  hire  out  for  any 
such  work.  My  father's  county  clerk  down  below." 

"You  don't  say!"  said  Ross. 

"Yes,  and  my  hands  are  all  blistered  and  my  back  is 
lame,  and  - 

But  the  expectant  youngsters  could  hold  in  no  longer. 
A  roar  of  laughter  cut  the  speaker  short.  Curtis  stared, 
bewildered.  Ross  and  Charley  Morton  were  laughing 
harder  than  anybody  else.  He  started  to  his  feet. 

"Hold  on,  son,"  Ross  commanded  him,  wiping  his  eyes. 
"Don't  get  hostile  at  a  little  joke.  You'll  get  used  to  the 
work.  Of  course  we  all  like  to  ride  off  in  the  mountains, 
and  do  cattle  work,  and  figure  on  things,  and  do  adminis- 
trative work;  and  we  none  of  us  are  stuck  on  construction." 
He  looked  around  him  at  his  audience,  now  quiet  and  atten- 
tive. "  But  we've  got  to  have  headquarters,  and  barns,  and 
houses,  and  corrals  and  pastures.  Once  they're  built, 
they're  built  and  that  ends  it.  But  they  got  to  be  built. 
We're  just  in  hard  luck  that  we  happen  to  be  rangers  right 
now.  The  Service  can't  hire  carpenters  for  us  very  well, 
way  up  here;  and  somebody1  s  got  to  do  it.  It  ain't  as  if 
we  had  to  do  it  for  a  living,  all  the  time.  There's  a  variety. 
We  get  all  kinds.  Rangering's  no  snap,  any  more  than  any 
other  job.  One  thing,"  he  ended  with  a  laugh,  "we  get  a 
chance  to  do  about  everything." 

The  valley  youth  had  dropped  sullenly  back  into  the 
shadows,  nor  did  he  reply  to  this.  After  a  little  the  men 
scattered  to  their  quarters,  for  they  were  tired. 


396          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Bob  and  Jack  Pollock  occupied  together  one  of  the  older 
cabins,  a  rough  little  structure,  built  mainly  of  shakes.  It 
contained  two  bunks,  a  rough  table,  and  two  stools  con- 
structed of  tobacco  boxes  to  which  legs  had  been  nailed. 
As  the  young  men  were  preparing  for  bed,  Bob  remarked: 

"Fletcher  got  his  rise,  all  right.  Much  obliged  for  your 
tip.  I  nearly  bit.  But  he  wasted  his  talk  in  my  notion. 
That  fellow  is  hopeless.  Ross  labours  in  vain  if  he  tries 
to  brace  him  up." 

"I  reckon  Ross  knows  that,"  replied  Jack,  "and  I  reckon 
too,  he  has  mighty  few  hopes  of  bracin'  up  Curtis.  I  have 
a  kind  of  notion  Ross  was  just  usin'  that  Curtis  as  a 
mark  to  talk  at.  What  he  was  talkin'  to  was  us." 


II 

THE  week's  hard  physical  toil  was  unrelieved.  After 
Bob  and  Jack  Pollock  had  driven  the  last  staple  in 
the  last  strand  of  barbed  wire,  they  turned  their 
horses  into  the  new  pasture.  The  animals,  overjoyed  to 
get  free  of  the  picket  ropes  that  had  heretofore  confined 
them,  took  long,  satisfying  rolls  in  the  sandy  corner,  and 
then  went  eagerly  to  cropping  at  the  green  feed.  Bob, 
leaning  on  the  gate,  with  the  rope  still  in  his  hand,  experi- 
enced a  glow  of  personal  achievement  greater  than  any  he 
remembered  to  have  felt  since,  as  a  small  boy,  he  had  unaided 
reasoned  out  the  problem  of  clear  impression  on  his  toy  print- 
ing press.  He  recognized  this  as  illogical,  for  he  had,  in 
all  modesty,  achieved  affairs  of  some  importance.  Never- 
theless, the  sight  of  his  own  animal  enjoying  its  liberty  in 
an  enclosure  created  by  his  own  two  hands  pleased  him  to 
the  core.  He  grinned  in  appreciation  of  Elliott's  humor- 
ous parody  on  the  sentimental  slogan  of  the  schools  —  "  to 
make  two  cedar  posts  grow  where  none  grew  before."  There 
was,  after  all,  a  rather  especial  satisfaction  in  that  principle. 
It  next  became  necessary,  he  found,  that  the  roof  over  the 
new  office  at  headquarters  should  receive  a  stain  that  would 
protect  it  against  the  weather.  He  acquired  a  flat  brush,  a 
little  seat  with  spikes  in  its  supports,  and  a  can  of  stain  whose 
base  seemed  to  be  a  very  evil-smelling  fish  oil.  Here  all 
day  long  he  clung,  daubing  on  the  stain.  When  one  shingle 
was  done,  another  awaited  his  attention,  over  and  over,  in 
unvarying  monotony.  It  was  the  sort  of  job  he  had  always 
loathed,  but  he  stuck  to  it  cheerfully,  driving  his  brush 
deep  in  the  cracks  in  order  that  no  crevice  might  remain 

397 


398  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

for  the  entrance  of  the  insidious  principle  of  decay.  Cast- 
ing about  in  his  leisure  there  for  the  reason  of  his  patience, 
he  discovered  it  in  just  that;  he  was  now  at  no  task  to  be 
got  through  with,  to  be  made  way  with;  he  was  engaged 
in  a  job  that  was  to  be  permanent.  Unless  he  did  it  right, 
it  would  not  be  permanent. 

Below  him  the  life  of  headquarters  went  on.  He  saw  it 
all,  and  heard  it  all,  for  every  scrap  of  conversation  rose  to 
him  from  within  the  office.  He  was  amazed  at  the  diver- 
sity of  interests  and  the  complexity  of  problems  that  came 
there  for  attention. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Thorne,"  said  one  of  the  rangers,  "this 
Use  Book  says  that  a  settler  has  a  right  to  graze  ten  head 
of  stock  actually  in  use  free  of  grazing  charge.  Now  there's 
Brown  up  at  the  north  end.  He  runs  a  little  dairy  business, 
and  has  about  a  hundred  head  of  cattle  up.  He  claims 
we  ought  not  to  charge  him  for  ten  head  of  them  because 
they're  all ' actually  in  use.'  How  about  it?" 

Thorne  explained  that  the  exemption  did  not  apply  to 
commercial  uses  and  that  Brown  must  pay  for  all.  He 
qualified  the  statement  by  saying  that  this  was  the  latest 
interpretation  of  which  he  had  heard. 

In  like  manner  the  policies  in  regard  to  a  dozen  little 
industries  and  interests  were  being  patiently  defined  and 
determined  —  dairies,  beef  cattle,  shake  makers,  bees,  box 
and  cleat  men,  free  timber  users,  mining  men,  seekers  for 
water  concessions,  those  who  desired  rights  of  way,  per- 
mits for  posts,  pastures,  mill  sites  —  all  these  proffered 
their  requests  and  difficulties  to  the  Supervisor.  Sometimes 
they  were  answered  on  the  spot.  Oftener  their  remarks 
were  listened  to,  their  propositions  taken  under  advisement. 
Then  one  or  another  of  the  rangers  was  summoned,  given 
instructions.  He  packed  his  mule,  saddled  his  horse,  and 
rode  away  to  be  gone  a  greater  or  lesser  period  of  time. 
Others  were  sent  out  to  run  lines  about  tracts,  to  define 
boundaries.  Still  others,  like  Ross  Fletcher,  pounded  drill 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          399 

and  rock,  and  exploded  powder  on  the  new  trail  that  was 
to  make  more  accessible  the  tremendous  canon  of  the 
river.  The  men  who  came  and  went  rarely  represented 
any  but  the  smallest  interests;  yet  somehow  Bob  felt  their 
importance,  and  the  importance  of  the  little  problems 
threshed  out  in  the  tiny,  rough-finished  office  below  him. 
These  but  foreshadowed  the  greater  things  to  come.  And 
these  minute  decisions  shaped  the  policies  and  precedents 
of  what  would  become  mighty  affairs.  Whether  Brown 
should  be  allowed  to  save  his  paltry  three  dollars  and  a  half 
or  not  determined  larger  things.  To  Bob's  half- mystic 
mood,  up  there  under  the  mottled  shadows,  every  tiny  move 
of  this  game  became  portentous  with  fate.  A  return  of 
the  old  exultation  lifted  him.  He  saw  the  shadows  of  these 
affairs  cast  dim  and  gigantic  against  the  mists  of  the  future. 
These  men  were  big  with  the  responsibility  of  a  new  thing. 
It  behooved  them  all  to  act  with  circumspection,  with  due 

heed,  with  reverence 

Bob  applied  his  broad  brush  and  the  evil-smelling  stain 
methodically  and  with  minute  care  as  to  every  tiny  detail 
of  the  simple  work.  But  his  eyes  were  wide  and  unseeing, 
and  all  the  inner  forces  of  his  soul  were  moving  slowly  and 
mightily.  His  personality  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  mat- 
ter. He  painted;  and  affairs  went  on  with  him.  His  being 
held  itself  passive,  in  suspension,  while  the  forces  and  exper- 
iences and  influences  of  one  phase  of  his  life  crystallized 
into  their  foreordained  shapes  deep  within  him.  Yester- 
day he  was  this;  now  he  was  becoming  that;  and  the  two 
were  as  different  beings.  New  doors  of  insight  were  silently 
swinging  open  on  their  hinges,  old  prejudices  were  closing, 
fresh  convictions  long  snugly  in  the  bud  were  unfolding 
like  flowers.  These  things  were  not  new.  They  had  begun 
many  years  before  when  as  a  young  boy  he  had  stared  wide- 
eyed,  unseeing  and  uncomprehending,  gazing  down  the 
sun-streaked,  green,  lucent  depths  of  an  aisle  in  the  forest. 
Bob  painted  steadily  on,  moving  his  little  seat  nearer  and 


400          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

nearer  the  eaves.  When  noon  and  night  came,  he  hung 
up  his  utensils  very  carefully,  washed  up,  and  tramped  to 
the  rangers'  camp,  where  he  took  his  part  in  the  daily  tasks, 
assumed  his  share  of  the  conversation,  entered  into  the  fun, 
and  contributed  his  ideas  toward  the  endless  discussions.  No 
one  noticed  that  he  was  in  any  way  different  from  his  ordi- 
nary self.  But  it  was  as  though  some  one  outside  of  himself, 
in  the  outer  circle  of  his  being,  carried  on  these  necessary 
and  customary  things.  He,  drawn  apart,  watched  by  the 
shrine  of  his  soul.  He  did  nothing,  either  by  thought  or 
effort  —  merely  watched,  patient  and  rapt,  while  foreor- 
dained and  mighty  changes  took  place  — 

He  reached  the  edge  of  the  roof;  stood  on  the  ladder  to 
finish  the  last  row  of  the  riven  shingles.  Slowly  his  brush 
moved,  finishing  the  cracks  deep  down  so  that  the  principle 
of  decay  might  never  enter.  Inside  the  office  Thorne  sat 
dictating  a  letter  to  some  applicant  for  privilege.  The  prin- 
ciple was  new  hi  its  interpretation,  and  so  Thorne  was 
choosing  his  words  with  the  greatest  care.  Swiftly  before 
Bob's  inner  vision  the  prospect  widened.  Thorne  became 
a  prophet  speaking  down  the  years;  the  least  of  these  men 
in  a  great  new  Service  became  the  austere  champions  of 
something  high  and  beautiful.  For  one  moment  Bob 
dwelt  in  a  wonderful,  breathless,  vast,  unreal  country  where 
heroic  figures  moved  in  the  importance  of  all  the  unborn 
future,  dim-seen,  half-revealed.  He  drew  his  brush  across 
the  last  shingle  of  all.  Something  seemed  to  click.  Swiftly 
the  gates  shut,  the  strange  country  receded  into  infinite  dis- 
tance. With  a  rush  like  the  sucking  of  water  into  a  vacuum 
the  everyday  world  drew  close.  Bob,  his  faculties  once  more 
in  their  accustomed  seat,  looked  about  him  as  one  awakened. 
His  hour  was  over.  The  change  had  taken  place. 

Thorne  was  standing  in  the  doorway  with  Amy,  their 
dictation  finished. 

"All  done?"  said  he.  "Well,  you  did  a  thorough  job. 
It's  the  kind  that  will  last." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  401 

"I'm  right  on  deck  when  it  comes  to  painting  things  red," 
retorted  Bob.  "  What  next  ?  " 

"Next,"  said  Thorne,  "I  want  you  to  help  one  of  the  boys 
split  some  cedar  posts.  We've  got  a  corral  or  so  to  make." 

Bob  descended  slowly  from  the  ladder,  balancing  the 
remainder  of  the  red  stain.  Thorne  looked  at  him  curi- 
ously. 

"How  do  you  like  it  as  far  as  you've  gone?"  he  per- 
mitted himself  to  ask.  "This  isn't  quite  up  to  the  romantic 
idea  of  rangering,  is  it?" 

"Well,"  said  Bob  with  conviction,  "I  suppose  it  may 
sound  foolish;  but  I  never  was  surer  of  anything  in  my 
life  than  that  I've  struck  the  right  job." 

As  he  walked  home  that  night,  he  looked  back  on  the 
last  few  days  with  a  curious  bewilderment.  It  had  all  been 
so  real;  now  apparently  it  meant  nothing.  Thorne  was 
doing  good  work;  these  rangers  were  good  men.  But 
where  had  vanished  all  Bob's  exaltation?  where  his  feeling 
of  the  portent  and  influence  and  far-reaching  significance 
of  what  these  men  were  doing?  He  realized  its  impor- 
tance; but  the  feeling  of  its  fatefulness  had  utterly  gone. 
Things  with  him  were  back  on  a  work-a-day  basis.  He 
even  laughed  a  little,  good-humouredly,  at  himself.  At 
the  gate  to  the  new  pasture  he  once  more  stopped  and  looked 
at  his  horse.  A  deep  content  came  over  him. 

"I've  sure  struck  the  right  job!"  he  repeated  aloud  with 
conviction. 

And  this,  could  he  have  known  it,  was  the  outward  and 
visible  and  only  sign  of  the  things  spiritual  that  had  been 
veiled. 


Ill 

WHEN  Saturday  evening  came  the  men  washed  and 
shaved  and  put  on  clean  garments.  Bob,  dog 
tired  after  a  hard  day,  was  more  inclined  to  lie 
on  his  back. 

"Ain't  you-ali  goin'  over  to-night?"  asked  Jack  Pollock. 

"Over  where ?" 

"Why,"  explained  the  younger  man,  "always  after  sup- 
per Saturdays  all  the  boys  who  are  in  camp  go  over  to  spend 
the  evenin'  at  headquarters." 

Aggressively  sleek  and  scrubbed,  the  little  group  marched 
down  through  the  woods  in  the  twilight.  At  headquarters 
Amy  Thorne  and  her  brother  welcomed  them  and  ushered 
them  into  the  big  room,  with  the  stone  fireplace.  In  this  latter 
a  fire  of  shake-bolts  leaped  and  roared.  The  men  crowded 
in,  a  trifle  bashfully,  found  boxes  and  home-made  chairs, 
and  perched  about  talking  occasionally  in  very  low  tones 
to  the  nearest  neighbour.  Amy  sat  in  a  rocking  chair  by 
the  table  lamp,  sewing  on  something,  paying  little  attention 
to  the  rangers,  save  to  throw  out  an  occasional  random 
remark.  Thorne  had  not  yet  entered.  Finally  Amy  dropped 
the  sewing  in  her  lap. 

"You're  all  as  solemn  as  a  camp-meeting,"  she  told  them 
severely.  "How  many  times  must  I  tell  you  to  smoke  up 
and  be  agreeable?  Here,  Mr.  Ware,  set*  them  a  good 
example." 

She  pushed  a  cigar  box  toward  the  older  man.  Bob  saw 
it  to  be  half  full  of  the  fine-flaked  tobacco  so  much  used  in 
the  West.  Thus  encouraged,  Ware  rolled  himself  a  cigar- 
ette. Others  followed  suit.  Still  others  produced  and  filled 

402 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          403 

black  old  pipes.  A  formidable  haze  eddied  through  the 
apartment.  Amy,  still  sewing,  said,  without  looking  up: 

"One  of  you  boys  go  rummage  the  store  room  for  the 
corn  popper.  The  corn's  in  a  corn-meal  sack  on  the  far 
shelf." 

Just  then  Thorne  came  in,  bringing  a  draft  of  cold  air 
with  him. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "this  is  a  pretty  full  house  for  this  time 
of  year." 

He  walked  directly  to  the  rough,  board  shelf  and  from 
it  took  down  a  book. 

"  This  man  Kipling  will  do  again  for  to-night,"  he  remarked. 
"He  knows  more  about  our  kind  of  fellow  than  most.  I've 
sent  for  one  or  two  other  things  you  ought  to  know,  but 
just  now  I  want  to  read  you  a  story  that  may  remind  you 
of  something  you've  run  against  yourself.  We've  a  few 
wild,  red-headed  Irishmen  ourselves  in  these  hills." 

He  walked  briskly  to  the  lamp,  opened  the  volume,  and 
at  once  began  to  read.  Every  once  in  a  while  he  looked 
up  from  the  book  to  explain  a  phrase  in  terms  the  men 
would  understand,  or  to  comment  pithily  on  some  similar- 
ity in  their  own  experience.  When  he  had  finished,  he 
looked  about  at  them,  challenging. 

"There;  what  did  I  tell  you?  Isn't  that  just  about  the 
way  they  hand  it  out  to  us  here  ?  And  this  story  took  place 
the  other  side  of  the  world!  It's  quite  wonderful  when 
you  stop  to  think  about  it,  isn't  it?  Listen  to  this ' 

He  pounced  on  another  story.  This  led  him  to  a  second 
incursion  on  the  meagre  library.  Bob  did  not  recognize  the 
practical,  rather  hard  Thorne  of  everyday  official  life.  The 
man  was  carried  away  by  his  eagerness  to  interpret  the  little 
East  Indian  to  these  comrade  spirits  of  the  West.  The 
rangers  listened  with  complete  sympathy,  every  once  in  a 
while  throwing  in  a  comment  or  a  criticism,  never  hesitating 
to  interrupt  when  interruption  seemed  pertinent. 

Finally  Amy,  who  had  all  this  time  been  sewing  away 


404          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

unmoved,  a  half-tender,  half-amused  smile  curving  her 
lips,  laid  down  her  work  with  an  air  of  decision. 

"I'll  call  your  attention,"  said  she,  "to  the  fact  that  I'm 
hungry.  Shut  up  your  book;  I  won't  hear  another  word." 
She  leaned  across  the  table,  and,  in  spite  of  Thome's  half- 
earnest  protests,  took  possession  of  the  volume. 

"Besides,"  she  remarked,  "look  at  poor  Jack  Pollock; 
he's  been  popping  corn  like  a  little  machine,  and  he  must 
be  nearly  roasted  himself." 

Jack  turned  to  her  a  face  very  red  from  the  heat  of  the 
leaping  pine  fire. 

"That's  right,"  he  grinned,  "but  I  got  about  a  dish- 
pan  done." 

"You'll  be  in  practice  to  fight  fire,"  some  one  chaffed  him. 

"  Oh,  he'll  fight  fire  all  right,  if  there's  somethin'  to  eat 
the  other  side,"  drawled  Charley  Morton. 

"It's  plenty,"  said  Amy,  referring  to  the  quantity  of  pop- 
corn. 

"Why,"  spoke  up  California  John  in  an  aggrieved  and 
surprised  tone,  "ain't  there  nobody  going  to  eat  popcorn 
but  me?" 

Amy  disappeared  only  to  return  bearing  a  cake  frosted 
with  chocolate.  The  respect  with  which  this  was  viewed 
proved  that  the  men  appreciated  to  the  full  what  was  repre- 
sented by  chocolate  cake  in  this  altitude  of  tiny  stoves  and 
scanty  supplies.  Again  Amy  dove  into  the  store  room. 
This  time  she  bore  back  a  huge  enamel-ware  pitcher  which 
she  set  in  the  middle  of  the  round  table. 

"There!"  she  cried,  her  cheeks  red  with  triumph. 

"What  you  got,  Amy?"  asked  her  brother. 

Ross  Fletcher  leaned  forward  to  look. 

"Great  guns!"  he  cried. 

The  men  jostled  around,  striving  for  a  glimpse,  half  in 
joke,  half  in  genuine  curiosity. 

"Lemonade!"  cried  Ware. 

"None  of  your  lime  juice  either,"  pronounced  California 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME         405 

John;  "look  at  the  genuine  article  floatin'  around  on 
top." 

They  turned  to  Amy. 

"Where  did  you  get  them?"  they  demanded. 

But  she  shook  her  head,  smiling,  and  declined  to  tell. 

They  devoured  the  popcorn  and  the  chocolate  cake  to 
the  last  crumb,  and  emptied  the  pitcher  of  genuine  lemon- 
ade. Then  they  went  home.  It  was  all  simple  enough: 
cheap  tobacco;  reading  aloud;  a  little  rude  chaffing;  lemon- 
ade, cake  and  popcorn!  Bob  smiled  to  himself  as  he  thought 
of  the  consternation  a  recital  of  these  ingredients  would 
carry  to  the  sophisticated  souls  of  most  of  his  friends.  Yet 
he  had  enjoyed  the  party,  enjoyed  it  deeply  and  thoroughly, 
He  came  away  from  it  glowing  with  good-fellowship. 


IV 

A  THESE  and  similar  occupations  the  latter  days  of 
June  slipped  by.  Bob  had  little  leisure,  for  the 
Service  was  undermanned  for  the  work  it  must  do. 
Curtis  sooned  resigned,  to  everybody's  joy  and  relief. 
On  only  one  occasion  did  Bob  gain  a  chance  to  ride  over 
to  the  scenes  of  his  old  activities.  This  was  on  a  Sunday 
when,  by  a  miracle,  nothing  unexpected  came  up  to  tie  him 
to  his  duty.  He  had  rather  an  unsatisfactory  visit  with 
Mr.  Welton.  It  was  cordial  enough  on  both  sides,  for  the 
men  wrere  genuinely  fond  of  each  other;  but  they  had  lost 
touch  of  each  other's  interests.  Welton  persisted  in  regard- 
ing Bob  with  a  covert  amusement,  as  an  older  man  regards 
a  younger  who  is  having  his  fling,  and  will  later  settle  down. 
Bob  asked  after  the  work,  and  was  answered.  Neither 
felt  any  real  human  interest  in  the  questions  nor  their  replies. 
A  certain  constraint  held  them,  to  Bob's  very  genuine  regret. 
He  rode  back  through  the  westering  shadows  vaguely  uneasy 
in  his  mind. 

He  and  two  of  the  new  mountain  men  had  been  for  two 
days  cutting  up  some  dead  and  down  trees  that  encumbered 
the  enclosure  at  headquarters.  They  cross-cut  the  trunks 
into  handy  lengths;  bored  holes  in  them  with  a  two-inch 
augur;  loaded  the  holes  with  blasting  powder  and  a  fuse, 
and  touched  them  off.  The  powder  split  the  logs  into  rough 
posts  small  enough  to  handle.  These  fragments  they  car- 
ried laboriously  to  the  middle  of  the  meadow,  where  they 
stacked  them  rack-fashion  and  on  end.  The  idea  was  to 
combine  business  with  pleasure  by  having  a  grand  bonfire 
the  night  of  the  Fourth  of  July. 

406 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME         407 

For  this  day  other  preparations  were  forward.  Amy 
promised  a  spread  for  everybody,  if  she  could  get  a  little 
help  at  the  last  moment.  As  many  of  the  outlying  rangers 
as  could  manage  it  would  come  in  for  the  occasion.  A 
shooting  match,  roping  and  chopping  contests,  and  other 
sports  were  in  contemplation. 

As  the  time  drew  near,  various  mysteries  were  plainly 
afoot.  Men  claimed  their  turns  in  riding  down  the  moun- 
tain for  the  mail.  They  took  with  them  pack  horses.  These 
they  unpacked  secretly  and  apart.  Amy  gave  Bob  to  under^ 
stand  that  this  holiday,  when  the  ranks  were  fullest  and 
conditions  ripe,  went  far  as  a  substitute  for  Christmas 
among  these  men. 

Then  at  noon  of  July  second  Charley  Morton  dashed 
down  the  trail  from  the  Upper  Meadow,  rode  rapidly  to 
Headquarters,  flung  himself  from  his  horse,  and  dove  into 
the  office.  After  a  moment  he  reappeared,  followed  by 
Thome. 

"Saddle  up,  boys,"  said  the  latter.  "Fire  over  beyond 
Baldy.  Ride  and  gather  in  the  men  who  are  about  here," 
he  told  Bob. 

Bob  sprang  on  Charley  Morton's  horse  and  rode  about 
instructing  the  workers  to  gather.  When  he  returned, 
Thorne  gave  his  instructions. 

"We're  short-handed,"  he  stated,  "and  it'll  be  hard  to  get 
help  just  at  this  time.  Charley,  you  take  Ware,  Elliott 
and  Carroll  and  see  what  it  looks  like.  Start  a  fire  line, 
and  do  the  best  you  can.  Orde,  you  and  Pollock  can  get 
up  some  pack  horses  and  follow  later  with  grub,  blankets, 
and  so  forth.  I'll  ride  down  the  mountain  to  see  what  I 
can  do  about  help.  It  may  be  I  can  catch  somebody  by 
phone  at  the  Power  House  who  can  let  the  boys  know  at 
the  north  end.  You  say  it's  a  big  fire?" 

"I  see  quite  a  lot  of  smoke,"  said  Charley. 

"Then  the  boys  over  Jackass  way  and  by  the  Cross- 
ing ought  to  see  it  for  themselves." 


408          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

The  four  men  designated  caught  up  their  horses,  saddled 
them,  and  mounted.  Thorne  handed  them  each  a  broad 
hoe,  a  rake  and  an  axe.  They  rode  off  up  the  trail.  Thorne 
mounted  on  his  own  horse. 

"Pack  up  and  follow  as  fast  as  you  can,"  he  told  the  two 
who  still  remained. 

'What  you  want  we  should  take?"  asked  Jack. 

"  Amy  will  tell  you.  Get  started  early  as  you  can.  You'll 
have  to  follow  their  tracks." 

Amy  took  direction  of  them  promptly.  While  they  caught 
and  saddled  the  pack  horses,  she  was  busy  in  the  store- 
room. They  found  laid  out  for  them  a  few  cooking  utensils, 
a  variety  of  provisions  tied  up  in  strong  little  sacks,  several 
more  hoes,  axes  and  rakes,  two  mattocks,  a  half-dozen  flat 
files,  and  as  many  big  zinc  canteens. 

"Now  hurry!"  she  commanded  them;  "pack  these,  and 
then  get  some  blankets  from  your  camp,  and  some  hobbles 
and  picket  ropes." 

With  Bob's  rather  awkward  help  everything  was  made 
fast.  By  the  time  the  two  had  packed  the  blankets  and 
returned  to  headquarters  on  their  way  to  the  upper  trail, 
they  found  Amy  had  changed  her  clothes,  caught  and  sad- 
dled her  own  horse,  tied  on  well-filled  saddle  bags,  and  stood 
awaiting  them.  She  wore  her  broad  hat  looped  back  by 
the  pine  tree  badge  of  the  Service,  a  soft  shirtwaist  of  gray 
flannel,  a  short  divided  skirt  of  khaki  and  high-laced  boots. 
A  red  neckerchief  matched  her  cheeks,  which  were  glowing 
with  excitement.  Immediately  they  appeared,  she  swung 
aboard  with  the  easy  grace  of  one  long  accustomed  to  the 
saddle.  Bob's  lower  jaw  dropped  in  amazement. 

"You  going?"  he  gasped,  unable  even  yet  to  compre- 
hend the  everyday  fact  that  so  many  gently  nurtured  West- 
ern girls  are  accustomed  to  those  rough-and-ready  bivouacs. 

"I  wouldn't  stay  away  for  worlds!"  she  cried,  turning 
her  pony's  head  up  the  trail. 

Beyond  the  upper  meadow  this  trail  suddenly  began  to 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          409 

climb.  It  made  its  way  by  lacets  in  the  dry  earth,  by  scram- 
bles in  the  rocks  until,  through  the  rapidly  thinning  ranks 
of  the  scrubby  trees,  Bob  could  look  back  over  all  the  broad 
shelf  of  the  mountain  whereon  grew  the  pines.  It  lay  spread 
before  him  as  a  soft  green  carpet  of  tops,  miles  of  it,  wrink- 
ling and  billowing  gently  as  here  and  there  the  conformation 
of  the  country  changed.  At  some  distance  it  dropped  over 
an  edge.  Beyond  that,  very  dimly,  he  realized  the  brown 
shimmer  rising  from  the  plain.  Far  to  the  right  was  a 
tenuous  smoke,  a  suggestion  of  thinning  in  the  forest,  a  flash 
of  blue  water.  This,  Bob  knew,  must  be  the  mill  and  the 
lake. 

The  trail  shortly  made  its  way  over  the  shoulder  of  the 
ridge  and  emerged  on  the  wide,  gentle  rounding  of  the  crest. 
Here  the  trees  were  small,  stunted  and  wind-blown.  Huge 
curving  sheets  of  unbroken  granite  lay  like  armour  across 
the  shoulder  of  the  mountain.  Decomposing  granite  shale 
crunched  under  the  horses'  hoofs.  Here  and  there  on  it 
grew  isolated  tiny  tufts  of  the  hardy  upland  flowers.  Above, 
the  sky  was  deeply,  intensely  blue;  bluer  than  Bob  had 
ever  seen  a  sky  before.  The  air  held  in  it  a  tang  of  wild- 
ness,  as  though  it  had  breathed  from  great  spaces. 

"I  suppose  this  is  the  top  of  our  ridge,  isn't  it?"  Bob 
asked  Jack  Pollock. 

The  boy  nodded. 

Suddenly  the  trail  dipped  sharp  to  the  left  into  a  nar- 
row and  shallow  little  ravine.  The  bed  of  this  was  carpeted 
by  a  narrow  stringer  of  fresh  grass  and  flowers,  through 
which  a  tiny  stream  felt  its  hesitating  way.  This  ravine 
widened  and  narrowed,  turned  and  doubled.  Here  and 
there  groups  of  cedars  on  a  dry  flat  offered  ideal  shelter  for 
a  camp.  Abruptly  the  stringer  burst  through  a  screen  of 
azaleas  to  a  round  green  meadow  surrounded  by  the  taller 
trees  of  the  eastern  slope  of  the  mountain. 

In  other  circumstances  Bob  would  have  liked  to  stop  for 
a  better  sight  of  this  little  gem  of  a  meadow.  It  was  ankle 


4io          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

deep  with  new  grasses,  starred  with  flowers,  bordered  with 
pink  and  white  azaleas.  The  air,  prisoned  in  a  pocket, 
warmed  by  the  sun,  perfumed  heavily  by  the  flowers,  lay 
in  the  cup  of  the  trees  like  a  tepid  bath.  A  hundred  birds 
sang  in  June-tide  ecstasy. 

But  Jack  Pollock,  without  pause,  skirted  this  meadow, 
crossed  the  tiny  silver  creek  that  bubbled  from  it  down  the 
slope,  and  stolidly  mounted  a  little  knoll  beyond.  The 
trained  pack  horses  swung  along  behind  him,  swaying 
gently  from  side  to  side  that  they  might  carry  their  packs 
comfortably  and  level.  Bob  turned  involuntarily  to  glance 
at  Amy.  Their  eyes  met.  She  understood;  and  smiled 
at  him  brightly. 

Jack  led  the  way  to  the  top  of  the  knoll  and  stopped. 

Here  the  edge  of  the  mountain  broke  into  a  tiny  out- 
cropping spur  that  shook  itself  free  from  the  pines.  It  con- 
stituted a  natural  lookout  '\,  the  east.  Bob  drew  rein  so 
violently  that  even  his  well-trained  mountain  horse  shook 
its  head  in  protest. 

Before  him,  hushed  with  that  tremendous  calm  of  vast 
distances,  lay  the  Sierras  he  had  never  seen,  as  though 
embalmed  in  the  sunlight  of  a  thousand  afternoons.  A 
tremendous,  deep  canon  plunged  below  him,  blue  with 
distance.  It  climbed  again  to  his  level  eventually,  but  by 
that  time  it  was  ten  miles  away.  And  over  against  him, 
very  remote,  were  pine  ridges  looking  velvety  and  dark  and 
ruffled  and  full  of  shadows,  like  the  erect  fur  of  a  beast  that 
has  been  alarmed.  From  them  here  and  there  projected 
granite  domes.  And  beyond  them  bald  ranges;  and  beyond 
them,  splintered  granite  with  snow  in  the  crevices;  and 
beyond  this  the  dark  and  frowning  Pinnacles;  and  still 
beyond,  other  mountains  so  distant,  so  ethereal,  so  deli- 
cately pink  and  rose  and  saffron  that  almost  he  expected 
they  might  at  any  moment  dissolve  into  the  vivid  sky.  And, 
strangely  enough,  though  he  realized  the  tremendous  heights 
and  depths  of  these  peaks  and  canons,  the  whole  effect  to 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          411 

Bob  was  as  something  spread  out  broad.  The  sky,  the 
wonderful  over-arching,  very  blue  sky,  was  the  most  impor- 
tant thing  in  the  universe.  Compared  to  its  infinitudes 
these  mountains  lay  spread  like  a  fair  and  wrinkled  foot- 
rug  to  a  horizon  inconceivably  remote  and  mysterious. 

Then  his  eye  fell  to  the  ridge  opposite,  across  the  blue 
canon.  From  one  point  on  it  a  straight  column  of  smoke 
rolled  upward,  to  mushroom  out  and  hang  motionless  above 
the  top  of  the  ridge.  Its  base  was  shot  by  half-seen,  half- 
guessed  flaming  streaks. 

Bob  had  vaguely  expected  to  see  a  whole  country-side 
ablaze.  This  single,  slender  column  was  almost  absurd.  It 
looked  like  a  camp-fire,  magnified  to  fit  the  setting,  of  course. 

"There's  the  fire,  all  right,"  said  Jack.  "We  got  to  get 
across  to  it  somehow.  Trail  ends  here." 

"Why,  that  doesn't  amount  to  much!"  cried  Bob. 

"Don't  it?"  said  Jack.  "Well,  I'd  call  that  some  shakes 
of  a  fire  myself.  It's  covered  mighty  nigh  three  hundred 
acres  by  now." 

"Three  hundred  acres!     Better  say  ten." 

"You're  wrong,"  said  Jack;  "I've  rode  all  that  country 
with  cattle." 

"You'll  find  it  fire  enough,  when  you  get  there,"  put  in 
Amy.  "It's  right  in  good  timber,  too." 

"All  right,"  agreed  Bob;  "I'll  believe  anything  —  after 
this."  He  waved  his  hand  abroad.  "Jack,"  he  called, 
as  that  young  man  led  the  way  off  the  edge,  "can  you  see 
where  Jack  Main's  Canon  is  from  here?" 

"Jack  Main's!"  repeated  young  Pollock.  "Why,  if  you 
was  on  the  top  of  the  farthest  mountain  in  sight,  you 
couldn't  see  any  place  you  could  see  it  from." 

"Good  Lord!"  said  Bob. 

The  way  zigzagged  down  the  slope  of  the  mountain. 
As  Jack  had  said,  there  was  no  trail,  but  the  tracks  left 
by  the  four  rangers  were  plainly  to  be  discerned.  Bob, 
following  the  pack  horses,  had  leisure  to  observe  how  skil- 


412          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

fully  this  way  had  been  picked  out.  Always  it  held  to  the 
easy  footing,  but  always  it  was  evident  that  if  certain  turns 
had  not  been  made  some  distance  back  this  easy  footing 
would  have  lacked.  At  times  the  tracks  led  far  to  the  left 
at  nearly  the  same  level  until  one,  two  or  three  little  streams 
had  been  crossed.  Then  without  apparent  reason  they 
turned  directly  down  the  backbone  of  a  steep  ridge  exactly 
like  a  half-dozen  others  they  had  passed  over.  But  later 
Bob  saw  that  this  ridge  was  the  only  one  of  the  lot  that 
dipped  over  gently  to  lower  levels;  all  the  rest  broke  off 
abruptly  in  precipitous  rocks.  Bob  was  a  good  woods- 
man, but  this  was  his  first  experience  in  that  mountaineering 
skill  which  noses  its  way  by  the  "  lay  of  the  country." 

In  the  meantime  they  were  steadily  descending.  The 
trees  hemmed  them  closer.  Thickets  of  willows  and  alders 
had  to  be  crossed.  Dimly  through  the  tree-tops  they  seemed 
to  see  the  sky  darkening  by  degrees  as  they  worked  their 
way  down.  At  first  Bob  thought  it  the  lateness  of  the  after- 
noon; then  he  concluded  it  must  be  the  smoke  of  the  fire; 
finally,  through  a  clear  opening,  he  saw  this  apparent  dark- 
ening of  the  horizon  was  in  reality  the  blue  of  the  canon 
wall  opposite,  rising  as  they  descended.  But,  too,  as  they 
drew  nearer,  the  heavy  smoke  of  the  conflagration  began 
to  spread  over  them.  In  time  it  usurped  the  heavens,  and 
Bob  had  difficulty  in  believing  that  it  could  appear  to  any 
one  anywhere  as  so  simple  a  mushroom-head  over  a  slender 
smoke  column. 

By  the  time  the  horses  stepped  from  the  slope  to  the  bed 
of  the  canon,  it  was  quite  dark.  Jack  turned  down 
stream. 

"We'll  cut  the  trail  to  Burro  Rock  pretty  quick,"  said  he. 

Within  five  minutes  of  travel  they  did  cut  it;  a  narrow 
brown  trough,  trodden  by  the  hoofs  of  many  generations 
of  cattlemen  bound  for  the  back  country.  Almost  imme- 
diately it  began  to  mount  the  slope. 

Now  ahead,  through  the  gathering  twilight,  lights  began 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          413 

to  show,  sometimes  scattered,  sometimes  grouped,  like  the 
camp-fires  of  an  immense  army.  These  were  the  stubs, 
stumps,  down  logs  and  the  like  left  still  blazing  after  all 
the  more  readily  inflammable  material  had  been  burned 
away.  As  the  little  cavalcade  laboured  upward,  stopping 
every  few  minutes  to  breathe  the  horses,  these  flickering 
lights  defined  themselves.  In  particular  one  tall  dead  yel- 
low pine  standing  boldly  prominent,  afire  to  the  top,  alter- 
nately glowed  and  paled  as  the  wind  breathed  or  died.  A 
smell  of  stale  burning  drifted  down  the  damp  night  air. 
Pretty  soon  Jack  Pollock  halted  for  a  moment  to  call  back: 

"Here's  their  fire  line!" 

Bob  spurred  forward.  Just  beyond  Jack's  horse  the 
country  lay  blackened.  The  pine  needles  had  burned  down 
to  the  soil;  the  seedlings  and  younger  trees  had  been  withered 
away;  the  larger  trees  scorched;  the  fuel  with  which  every 
forest  is  littered  consumed  in  the  fierceness  of  the  conflagra- 
tion. Here  and  there  some  stub  or  trunk  still  blazed  and 
crackled,  outposts  of  the  army  whose  camp-fires  seemed 
to  dot  the  hills. 

The  line  of  demarcation  between  the  burned  and  the 
unburned  areas  seemed  extraordinarily  well  defined.  Bob 
looked  closer  and  saw  that  this  definition  was  due  to  a  pecul- 
iar path,  perhaps  two  yards  wide.  It  looked  as  though 
some  one  had  gone  along  there  with  a  huge  broom,  sweeping 
as  one  would  sweep  a  path  in  deep  dust.  Only  in  this  case 
the  broom  must  have  been  a  powerful  implement  as  well 
as  one  of  wide  reach.  The  brushed  marks  went  not  only 
through  the  carpet  of  pine  needles,  but  through  the  tar- 
weed,  the  snow  brush,  the  manzanita.  This  was  technic- 
ally the  fire  line.  At  the  sight  of  the  positiveness  with 
which  it  had  checked  the  spread  of  the  flames,  Bob's  spirits 
rose. 

"They  seem  to  have  stopped  it  here  easy  enough,  already," 
he  cried. 

"Being  as  how  this  is  the  windward  side  of  the  fire,  and 


414         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

on  a  down  slope,  I  should  think  they  might,"  remarked 
Jack  Pollock  drily. 

Bob  chuckled  and  glanced  at  the  girl. 

"I'm  finding  out  every  day  how  little  I  know,'7  said  he; 
"at  my  age,  too!" 

"The  hard  work  is  down  wind,"  said  Amy, 

"Of  course." 

They  entered  the  burned  area,  and  climbed  on  up  the 
hill.  Though  evidently  here  the  ferocity  of  the  confla- 
gration had  passed,  it  had  left  its  rear  guard  behind.  Fal- 
len trees  still  blazed;  standing  trees  flamed  like  torches  — 
but  all  harmlessly  within  the  magic  circle  drawn  by  the 
desperate  quick  work  of  the  rangers.  They  threaded  their 
way  cautiously  among  these  isolated  fires,  watching  lest 
some  dead  giant  should  fall  across  their  path.  The  ground 
smoked  under  their  feet.  Against  the  background  of  a 
faint  and  distant  roaring,  which  now  made  itself  evident, 
the  immediate  surroundings  seemed  very  quiet.  The  indi- 
vidual cracklings  of  flames  were  an  undertone.  Only  once 
in  a  while  a  dull  heavy  crash  smote  the  air  as  some  great 
tree  gave  up  the  unequal  struggle. 

They  passed  as  rapidly  as  they  could  through  this  stricken 
field.  The  night  had  fallen,  but  the  forest  was  still 
bright,  the  trail  still  plain.  They  followed  it  for  an  hour 
until  it  had  topped  the  lower  ridge. 

Then  far  ahead,  down  through  the  dark  trunks  of  trees, 
they  saw,  wavering,  flickering,  leaping  and  dying,  a  line  of 
fire.  In  some  places  it  was  a  dozen  feet  high;  in  others  it 
sank  to  within  a  few  inches  of  the  ground  —  but  nowhere 
could  the  eye  discern  an  opening  through  it.  A  roar  and 
a  crackling  filled  the  air.  Sparks  were  shooting  upward 
in  the  suction.  A  blast  of  heat  rushed  against  Bob's  cheek. 
All  at  once  he  realized  that  a  forest  fire  was  not  a  widespread 
general  conflagration,  like  the  burning  of  a  city  block.  It 
was  a  line  of  battle,  a  ring  of  flame  advancing  steadily.  All 
they  had  passed  had  been  negligible.  Here  was  the  true 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          415 

enemy,  now  charging  rapidly  through  the  dry,  inflammable 
low  growth,  now  creeping  stealthily  in  the  needles  and 
among  the  rocks;  always  making  way,  always  gathering 
itself  for  one  of  its  wild  leaps  which  should  lay  an  entire  new 
province  under  its  ravaging.  Somewhere  on  the  other  side 
of  that  ring  of  fire  were  four  men.  They  were  trying  to 
cut  a  lane  over  which  the  fire  could  not  leap. 

Bob  gazed  at  the  wall  of  flame  with  some  dismay. 

"How  we  going  to  get  through?"  he  asked. 

"We  got  to  find  a  rock  outcrop  somewheres  up  the  ridge," 
explained  Jack,  "where  there'll  be  a  break  in  the  fire." 

He  turned  up  the  side  of  the  mountain  again,  leading 
the  way.  After  a  time  they  came  to  an  outcrop  of  the  sort 
described,  which,  with  some  difficulty  and  stumbling,  they 
succeeded  in  crossing. 

Ahead,  in  the  darkness,  showed  a  tiny  licking  little  fire, 
only  a  few  inches  high. 

"The  fire  has  jumped !"  cried  Bob. 

"No,    that's    their    backfire,"    Pollock    corrected     him. 

They  found  this  to  be  true.  The  rangers  had  hastily 
hoed  and  raked  out  a  narrow  path.  Over  this  a  very  small 
fire  could  not  pass;  but  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  the 
larger  conflagration  would  take  the  slight  obstacle  in  its 
stride.  Therefore  the  rangers  had  themselves  ignited  the 
small  fire.  This  would  eat  away  the  fuel,  and  automatic- 
ally widen  the  path.  Between  the  main  fire  and  the  back 
fire  were  still  several  hundred  yards  of  good,  unburned 
country.  To  Bob's  expression  of  surprise  Amy  added  to  the 
two  principles  of  fire-fighting  he  had  learned  from  Pollock. 

"It  doesn't  do  to  try  to  stop  a  fire  anywhere  and  every- 
where," said  she.  "A  good  man  knows  his  country,  and  he 
takes  advantage  of  it.  This  fire  line  probably  runs  along 
the  line  of  natural  defence." 

They  followed  it  down  the  mountain  for  a  long  distance 
through  the  eddying  smoke.  The  flames  to  their  right 
shot  up  and  died  and  crept.  The  shadows  to  their  left — 


4i 6          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

their  own  among  the  number  —  leaped  and  fell.  After  a 
while,  down  through  the  mists,  they  made  out  a  small  fig- 
ure, very  busy  at  something.  When  they  approached,  they 
found  this  to  be  Charley  Morton.  The  fire  had  leaped 
the  cleared  path  and  was  greedily  eating  in  all  directions 
through  the  short,  pitchy  growth  of  tarweed.  It  was  as 
yet  only  a  tiny  leak,  but  once  let  it  get  started,  the  whole 
forest  beyond  the  fire  line  would  be  ablaze.  The  ranger 
had  started  to  cut  around  this  a  half-circle  connected  at 
both  ends  with  the  main  fire  line.  With  short,  quick  jabs 
of  his  hoe,  he  was  tearing  away  at  the  tough  tarweed. 

"Hullo!"  said  he  without  looking  up.  "You'll  find 
camp  on  the  bald  ridge  north  the  fire  line.  There's  a  little 
feed  there." 

Having  completed  his  defence,  he  straightened  his  back 
to  look  at  them.  His  face  was  grimed  a  dingy  black  through 
which  rivulets  of  sweat  had  made  streaks. 

"Had  it  pretty  hot  all  afternoon,"  he  proffered.  "Got 
the  fire  line  done,  though.  How're  those  canteens — full? 
I'll  trade  you  my  empty  one."  He  took  a  long  draught. 
"That  tastes  good.  Went  dry  about  three  o'clock,  and 
haven't  had  a  drop  since." 

They  left  him  there,  leaning  on  the  handle  of  his  hoe. 
Jack  Pollock  seemed  to  know  where  the  place  described 
as  the  camp-site  was  located,  for  after  various  detours  and 
false  starts,  he  led  them  over  the  brow  of  a  knoll  to  a  tiny 
flat  among  the  pine  needles  where  they  were  greeted  by 
whinnies  from  unseen  animals.  It  was  here  very  dark. 
Jack  scraped  together  and  lit  some  of  the  pine  needles. 
By  the  flickering  light  they  saw  the  four  saddles  dumped 
down  in  a  heap. 

"There's  a  side  hill  over  yander  with  a  few  bunches  of 
grass  and  some  of  these  blue  lupins,"  said  Jack.  "It  ain't 
much  in  the  way  of  hoss-feed,  but  it'll  have  to  do." 

He  gathered  fuel  and  soon  had  enough  of  a  fire  to  furnish 
light. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          417 

"It  certainly  does  seem  plumb  foolish  to  be  lightin'  more 
fires!"  he  remarked. 

In  the  meantime  Amy  had  unsaddled  her  own  horse  and 
was  busy  unpacking  one  of  the  pack  animals.  Bob  fol- 
lowed her  example. 

"There,"  she  said;  "now  here  are  the  canteens,  all  full; 
and  here's  six  lunches  already  tied  together  that  I  put  up 
before  we  started.  You  can  get  them  to  the  other  boys. 
Take  your  tools  and  run  along.  I'll  straighten  up,  and  be 
ready  for  you  when  you  can  come  back." 

"What  if  the  fire  gets  over  to  you?"  asked  Bob. 

"I'll  turn  the  horses  loose  and  ride  away,"  she  said  gaily. 

"It  won't  get  clost  to  there,"  put  in  Jack.  "This  little 
ridge  is  rock  all  round  it.  That's  why  they  put  the  camp 
here." 

"Where's  water?"  asked  Amy. 

"I  don't  rightly  remember,"  confessed  Pollock.  "I've 
only  been  in  here  once." 

"I'll  find  out  in  the  morning.     Good  luck!" 

Jack  handed  Bob  three  of  the  canteens,  a  hoe  and  rake 
and  one  of  the  flat  files. 

"What's  this  for?"  asked  Bob. 

"To  keep  the  edge  of  your  hoe  sharp,"  replied  Jack. 

They  shouldered  their  implements  and  felt  their  way  in 
the  darkness  over  the  tumbled  rock  outcrop.  As  they  sur- 
mounted the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  they  saw  once  more  flick- 
ering before  them  the  fire  line. 


CHARLEY  MORTON  received  the  lunch  with  joy. 
"Ain't  had  time  to  get  together  grub  since  we 
came,"  said  he,  "and  didn't  know  when  I  would." 

"What  do  you  want  us  to  do?"  asked  Bob, 

"The  fire  line's  drawn  right  across  from  Granite  Creek 
down  there  in  the  canon  over  to  a  bald  dome.  We  got  her 
done  an  hour  ago,  and  pretty  well  back-fired.  All  we  got  to 
do  now  is  to  keep  her  from  crossing  anywheres;  and  if  she 
does  cross,  to  corral  her  before  she  can  get  away  from  us." 

"I  wish  we  could  have  got  here  sooner!"  cried  Bob, 
disappointed  that  the  little  adventure  seemed  to  be  flatten- 
ing out. 

"So?"  commented  Charley  drily.  "Well,  there's  plenty 
yet.  If  she  gets  out  in  one  single,  lonesome  place,  this 
fire  line  of  ours  won't  be  worth  a  cent.  She's  inside  now  — 
if  we  can  hold  her  there."  He  gazed  contemplatively  aloft 
at  a  big  dead  pine  blazing  merrily  to  its  very  top.  Every 
once  in  a  while  a  chunk  of  bark  or  a  piece  of  limb  came  flar- 
ing down  to  hit  the  ground  with  a  thump.  "There's  the 
trouble,"  said  he.  "What's  to  keep  a  spark  or  a  coal  from 
that  old  coon  from  falling  or  rolling  on  the  wrong  side  of 
the  line  ?  If  it  happens  when  none  of  us  are  around,  why  the 
fire  gets  a  start.  And  maybe  a  coal  will  roll  down  hill  from 
somewhere;  or  a  breeze  come  up  and  carry  sparks.  One 
spark  over  here,"  he  stamped  his  foot  on  the  brushed  line, 
"and  it's  all  to  do  over  again.  There's  six  of  us,"  added 
the  ranger,  "  and  a  hundred  of  these  trees  near  the  line.  By 
rights  there  ought  to  be  a  man  camped  down  near  every  one 
of  them." 

418 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          419 

"Give  us  our  orders,"  repeated  Bob. 

"The  orders  are  to  patrol  the  fire  line,"  said  Morton. 
"If  you  find  the  fire  has  broken  across,  corral  it.  If  it  gets 
too  strong  for  you,  shoot  your  six-shooter  twice.  Keep 
a-moving,  but  take  it  easy  and  save  yourself  for  to-morrow. 
About  two  o'clock,  or  so,  I'll  shoot  three  times.  Then  you 
can  come  to  camp  and  get  a  little  sleep.  You  got  to  be  in 
shape  for  to-morrow." 

"Why  especially  to-morrow?"  asked  Bob. 

"Fire  dies  in  the  cool  of  night;  it  comes  up  in  the  middle 
of  the  day,"  explained  Morton  succinctly. 

Bob  took  to  the  right,  while  Jack  went  in  the  opposite 
direction.  His  way  led  down  hill.  He  crossed  a  ravine, 
surmounted  a  little  ridge.  Now  he  was  in  the  worse  than 
total  darkness  of  the  almost  extinct  area.  Embers  and 
coals  burned  all  over  the  side  hill  like  so  many  evil  winking 
eyes.  Far  ahead,  down  the  mountain,  the  rising  smoke 
glowed  incandescent  with  the  light  of  an  invisible  fire  beneath. 
Bob,  blinded  by  this  glow,  had  great  difficulty  in  making  his 
way.  Once  he  found  that  he  had  somehow  crept  out  on 
the  great  bald  roundness  of  a  granite  dome,  and  had  to 
retrace  his  steps.  Twice  he  lost  his  footing  utterly,  but 
fortunately  fell  but  a  short  distance.  At  last  he  found  him- 
self in  the  V  of  a  narrow  ravine. 

All  this  time  he  had,  with  one  exception,  kept  close  track 
of  the  fire  line.  The  exception  was  when  he  strayed  out 
over  the  dome;  but  that  was  natural,  for  the  dome  had  been 
adopted  bodily  as  part  of  the  system  of  defence.  Every- 
where the  edge  of  the  path  proved  to  be  black  and  dead. 
No  living  fire  glowed  within  striking  distance  of  the  inflam- 
mable material  on  the  hither  side  the  path. 

But  here,  in  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  a  single  coal  had 
lodged,  and  had  already  started  into  flame  the  dry  small 
brush.  It  had  fallen  originally  from  an  oak  fully  a  hun- 
dred feet  away;  and  in  some  mysterious  manner  had  found 
a  path  to  this  hidden  pocket.  The  circumstances  some* 


420          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

what  shook  Bob's  faith  in  the  apparent  safety  of  the  country 
he  had  just  traversed. 

However,  there  were  the  tiny  flames,  licking  here  and 
there,  insignificant,  but  nevertheless  dangerous.  Bob  care- 
fully laid  his  canteens  and  the  rake  on  a  boulder,  and  set 
to  work  with  his  sharpened  hoe.  It  looked  to  be  a  very 
easy  task  to  dig  out  a  path  around  this  little  fire. 

In  the  course  of  the  miniature  fight  he  learned  consider- 
able of  the  ways  of  fire.  The  brush  proved  unexpectedly 
difficult.  It  would  not  stand  up  to  the  force  of  his  stroke, 
but  bent  away.  The  tarweed,  especially,  was  stubborn 
under  even  the  most  vigorous  wielding  of  his  sharpened 
hoe. 

He  made  an  initial  mistake  by  starting  to  hoe  out  his 
path  too  near  the  blaze,  forgetting  that  in  the  time  neces- 
sary to  complete  his  half-circle  the  flames  would  have  spread. 
Discovering  this,  he  abandoned  his  beginning  and  fell  back 
twenty  feet.  This  naturally  considerably  lengthened  the 
line  he  would  have  to  cut.  When  it  was  about  half  done, 
Bob  discovered  that  he  would  have  to  hustle  to  prevent 
the  fire  breaking  by  him  before  he  could  complete  his  half- 
circle.  It  became  a  race.  He  worked  desperately.  The 
heat  of  the  flames  began  to  scorch  his  face  and  hands,  so 
that  it  was  with  difficulty  he  could  face  his  work.  Irrele- 
vantly enough  there  arose  before  his  mind  the  image  of 
Jack  Pollock  popping  corn  before  the  fireplace  at  head- 
quarters. Continual  wielding  of  the  hoe  tired  a  certain 
set  of  muscles  to  the  aching  point.  His  mouth  became  dry 
and  sticky,  but  he  could  not  spare  time  to  hunt  up  his  can- 
teen. The  thought  flashed  across  his  mind  that  the  fire 
was  probably  breaking  across  elsewhere,  just  like  this. 
The  other  men  must  be  in  the  same  fix.  There  were  six 
of  them.  Suppose  the  fire  should  break  across  simultane- 
ously in  seven  places?  The  little  licking  flames  had  at 
last,  by  dint  of  a  malignant  persistence,  become  a  personal 
enemy.  He  fought  them  absorbedly,  throwing  his  line 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  421 

farther  and  farther  as  the  necessity  arose,  running  to  beat 
down  with  green  brush  the  first  feeble  upstartings  of  the 
fire  as  it  leaped  here  and  there  his  barrier,  keeping  a  vigi- 
lant eye  on  every  part  of  his  defences. 

"Well,"  drawled  Charley  Morton's  voice  behind  him, 
"what  you  think  you're  doing?" 

"Corralling  this  fire,  of  course,"  Bob  panted,  dashing 
at  a  marauding  little  flame. 

"What  for?"  demanded  Charley. 

Bob  looked  up  in  sheer  amazement. 

"  See  that  rock  dike  just  up  the  hill  behind  you  ?"  explained 
Morton.  "Well,  our  fire  line  already  runs  up  to  that  on 
both  sides.  Fire  couldn't  cross  it.  We  expected  this  to 
burn." 

Bob  suddenly  felt  a  little  nauseated  and  dizzy  from  the 
heat  and  violence  of  his  exertions  in  this  high  altitude. 

"Here's  your  canteen,"  Morton  went  on  easily.  "Take 
a  swig.  Better  save  a  little.  Feel  better?  Let  me  give 
you  a  pointer:  don't  try  to  stop  a  fire  going  up  hill.  Take 
it  on  top  or  just  over  the  top.  It  burns  slower  and  it  ain't 
so  apt  to  jump." 

"I  know;  I  forgot,"  said  Bob,  feeling  a  trifle  foolish. 

"Never  mind;  you've  learned  something/'  said  Morton 
comfortably.  "Let's  go  down  below.  There's  fresh  fire 
there;  and  it  may  have  jumped  past  Elliott." 

They  scrambled  down.  Elliott  and  Ware  were  found 
to  be  working  desperately  in  the  face  of  the  flames.  The 
fire  had  not  here  jumped  the  line,  but  it  was  burning  with 
great  ferocity  up  to  the  very  edge  of  it.  If  the  rangers 
could  for  a  half-hour  prevent  the  heat  from  igniting  the 
growths  across  the  defence,  the  main  fire  would  have  con- 
sumed its  fuel  and  died  down  to  comparative  safety.  With 
faces  averted,  heads  lowered,  handkerchiefs  over  their 
mouths,  they  continually  beat  down  the  new  little  fires  which 
as  continually  sprang  into  life  again.  Here  the  antagon- 
ists were  face  to  face  across  the  narrow  line.  The  rangers 


422          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

could  not  give  back  an  inch,  for  an  inch  of  headway  on  the 
wrong  side  the  path  would  convert  a  kindling  little  blaze 
to  a  real  fire.  They  stood  up  to  their  work  doggedly  as 
best  they  might. 

With  entire  understanding  of  the  situation  Charley 
motioned  Bob  to  the  front. 

"We'll  hold  her  for  a  minute,"  he  shouted  to  the  others. 
"Drop  back  and  get  a  drink." 

They  fell  back  to  seize  eagerly  their  canteens.  Bob 
gripped  his  handful  of  green  brush  and  set  to  work.  For  a 
minute  he  did  not  think  it  possible  to  face  the  terrible  heat. 
His  garments  were  literally  drenched  with  sweat  which 
immediately  dried  into  steam.  A  fierce  drain  sucked  at 
his  strength.  He  could  hardly  breathe,  and  could  see  only 
with  difficulty.  After  a  moment  Elliott  and  Ware,  evidently 
somewhat  refreshed,  again  took  hold. 

How  they  stuck  it  out  for  that  infernal  half-hour  Bob 
could  not  have  told,  but  stick  it  out  they  did.  The  flames 
gradually  died  down;  the  heat  grew  less;  the  danger  that 
the  shrivelled  brush  on  the  wrong  side  the  fire  line  would 
be  ignited  by  sheer  heat,  vanished.  The  four  men  fell 
back.  Their  eyebrows  and  hair  were  singed;  their  skin 
blackened.  Bob's  face  felt  sore,  and  as  though  it  had  been 
stretched.  He  took  a  long  pull  at  his  canteen.  For  the 
moment  he  felt  as  though  his  energy  had  all  been  drained 
away. 

"Well,  that  was  a  good  little  scrap,"  observed  Charley 
Morton  cheerfully.  "I  certainly  do  wish  it  was  always  night 
when  a  man  had  to  fight  fire.  In  a  hot  sun  it  gets  to  be 
hard  work." 

Elliott  rolled  his  eyes,  curiously  white  like  a  minstrel's 
in  his  blackened  face,  at  Bob,  but  said  nothing. 

"We'll  leave  Elliott  here  to  watch  this  a  few  minutes, 
and  go  down  the  line,"  said  Morton. 

Bob  lifted  his  canteen,  and,  to  his  surprise,  found  it  empty. 

"Why,  I  must  have  drunk  a  gallon  1"  he  cried. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          423 

"It's  dry  work,"  said  Morton. 

They  continued  on  down  the  fire  line,  pausing  every 
once  in  a  while  to  rake  and  scrape  leisurely  at  the  heavy 
bark  beneath  some  blazing  stub.  The  fierce,  hard  work 
was  over.  All  along  the  fire  line  from  the  dome  of  granite 
over  the  ridge  down  to  Granite  Creek  the  fire  had  consumed 
all  the  light  fuel  on  its  own  side  the  defence.  No  further 
danger  was  to  be  apprehended  in  the  breaking  across.  But 
everywhere  through  the  now  darkening  forest  blazed  the 
standing  trees.  A  wind  would  fill  the  air  with  brands; 
and  even  in  the  present  dead  calm  those  near  the  line  were 
a  threat. 

The  men  traversed  the  fire  line  from  end  to  end  a  half- 
dozen  times.  Bob  became  acquainted  individually  and 
minutely  with  each  of  the  danger  spots.  The  new  tempor- 
ary features  of  country  took  on,  from  the  effects  of  vigilance 
and  toil,  the  dignity  of  age  and  establishment.  Anxiously 
he  widened  the  path  here,  kicked  back  glowing  brands 
there,  tried  to  assure  himself  that  in  no  possible  manner 
could  the  seed  of  a  new  conflagration  find  germination. 
After  a  long  time  he  heard  three  shots  from  up  the  moun- 
tain. This,  he  remarked,  was  a  signal  agreed  upon.  He 
shouldered  his  blackened  implements  and  commenced  a 
laborious  ascent. 

Suddenly  he  discovered  that  he  was  very  tired,  and  that 
his  legs  were  weak  and  wobbly.  Stubs  and  sticks  pro- 
truded everywhere;  stones  rolled  from  under  his  feet.  Once 
on  a  steep  shale,  he  fell  and  rolled  ten  feet  out  of  sheer 
weariness.  In  addition  he  was  again  very  thirsty,  and  his 
canteen  empty.  A  chill  gray  of  dawn  was  abroad;  the 
smell  of  stale  burning  hung  in  the  air. 

By  the  time  he  had  staggered  into  camp  the  daylight 
had  come.  He  glanced  about  him  wearily.  Across  a  tiny 
ravine  the  horses  dozed,  tied  each  to  a  short  picket  rope. 
Bob  was  already  enough  of  a  mountaineer  to  notice  that 
the  feed  was  very  scant.  The  camp  itself  had  been  made 


424          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

under  a  dozen  big  yellow  pines.  A  bright  little  fire  flick- 
ered. About  it  stood  utensils  from  which  the  men  were 
rather  dispiritedly  helping  themselves.  Bob  saw  that  the 
long  pine  needles  had  been  scraped  together  to  make  soft 
beds,  over  which  the  blankets  had  been  spread.  Amy  her- 
self, her  cheeks  red,  her  eyes  bright,  was  passing  around 
tin  cups  of  strong  coffee,  and  tin  plates  of  food.  Her  horse, 
saddled  and  bridled,  stood  nearby. 

"Take  a  little  of  this,"  she  urged  Bob,  "and  then  turn 
in." 

Bob  muttered  his  thanks.  After  swallowing  the  coffee, 
however,  he  felt  his  energies  reviving  somewhat. 

"How  did  you  leave  things  at  the  lower  end?"  Morton 
was  asking  him. 

"  All  out  but  two  or  three  smouldering  old  stubs,"  replied 
Bob.  "Everything's  safe." 

"Nothing's  safe,"  contradicted  Morton.  "By  rights  we 
ought  to  watch  every  minute.  But  we  got  to  get  some  rest 
in  a  long  fight.  It's  the  cool  of  the  morning  and  the  fire 
burns  low.  Turn  in  and  get  all  the  sleep  you  can.  May 
need  you  later." 

"I'm  all  in,"  acknowledged  Bob,  throwing  back  his 
blanket;  "I'm  willing  to  say  so." 

"No  more  fire  in  mine,"  agreed  young  Elliott. 

The  other  men  said  nothing,  but  fell  to  their  beds.  Only 
Charley  Morton  rose  a  little  stiffly  to  his  feet. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  turn  in  too,  Charley?"  asked  the 
girl  quickly. 

"It's  daylight  now,"  explained  the  ranger,  "and  I  can 
see  to  ride  a  horse.  I  reckon  I'd  better  ride  down  the  line." 

"  I've  thought  of  that,"  said  Amy.  "  Of  course,  it  wouldn't 
do  to  let  the  fire  take  care  of  itself.  See;  I  have  Pronto 
saddled.  I'll  look  over  the  line,  and  if  anything  happens 
I'll  wake  you." 

"You  must  be  about  dead,"  said  Charley.  "You've  been 
up  all  night  fixing  camp  and  cooking " 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          425 

"Up  all  night!"  repeated  Amy  scornfully.  "How  long 
do  you  think  it  takes  me  to  make  camp  and  cook  a  simple 
little  breakfast?" 

"But  the  country's  almighty  rough  riding." 

"On  Pronto?" 

"He's  a  good  mountain  pony,"  agreed  Charley  Morton; 
"California  John  picked  him  out  himself.  All  right.  I 
do  feel  some  tired." 

This  was  about  six  o'clock.  The  men  had  slept  but  a 
little  over  an  hour  when  Amy  scrambled  over  the  rim  of  the 
dike  and  dropped  from  her  horse. 

"Charley!"  she  cried,  shaking  the  ranger  by  the  shoul- 
der; "I'm  sorry.  But  there's  fresh  smoke  about  half-way 
down  the  mountain.  There  was  nothing  left  to  burn  fresh 
inside  the  fire  line,  was  there?  I  thought  not." 

Twenty  minutes  later  all  six  were  frantically  digging, 
hoeing,  chopping,  beating  in  a  frenzy  against  the  spread 
of  the  flames.  In  some  manner  the  fire  had  jumped  the 
line.  It  might  have  been  that  early  in  the  fight  a  spark 
had  lodged.  As  long  as  the  darkness  of  night  held  down 
the  temperature,  this  spark  merely  smouldered.  When, 
however,  the  rays  of  the  sun  gathered  heat,  it  had  burst  into 
flame. 

This  sun  made  all  the  difference  in  the  world.  Where, 
in  the  cool  of  the  night,  the  flames  had  crept  slowly,  now 
they  leaped  forward  with  a  fierce  crackling;  green  brush 
that  would  ordinarily  have  resisted  for  a  long  time,  now 
sprang  into  fire  at  a  touch.  The  conflagration  spread  from 
a  single  point  in  all  directions,  running  swiftly,  roaring  in 
a  sheet  of  fire,  licking  up  all  before  it. 

The  work  was  fierce  in  its  intensity.  Bob,  in  common 
with  the  others,  had  given  up  trying  —  or  indeed  caring  — 
to  protect  himself.  His  clothes  smoked,  his  face  smarted 
and  burned,  his  skin  burned  and  blistered.  He  breathed 
the  hot  air  in  gasps.  Strangely  enough,  he  did  not  feel  in 
the  least  tired. 


426          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

He  did  not  need  to  be  told  what  to  do.  The  only  possible 
defence  was  across  a  rock  outcrop.  To  right  and  left  of 
him  the  other  men  were  working  desperately  to  tear  out 
the  brush.  He  grubbed  away  trying  to  clear  the  pine  need- 
les and  little  bushes  that  would  carry  the  fire  through  the 
rocks  like  so  many  powder  fuses. 

He  had  no  time  to  see  how  the  others  were  getting  on; 
he  worked  on  faith.  His  own  efforts  were  becoming  suc- 
cessful. The  fire,  trying,  one  after  another,  various  leads 
through  the  rocks,  ran  out  of  fuel  and  died.  The  infernal 
roaring  furnace  below,  however,  leaped  ever  to  new  trial. 

Then  all  at  once  Bob  found  himself  temporarily  out  of 
the  game.  In  trying  to  roll  a  boulder  out  of  the  way,  he 
caught  his  hand.  A  sharp,  lightning  pain  shot  up  his 
arm  and  into  the  middle  of  his  chest.  When  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  extricating  himself,  he  found  that  his  middle  finger 
was  squarely  broken. 


VI 

BOB  stood  still  for  a  moment,  looking  at  the  injured 
member.     Charley   Morton    touched    him   on    the 
shoulder.    When  he  looked  up,  the  ranger  motioned 
him  back.     Casting  a  look  of  regret  at  his  half -completed 
defences,  he  obeyed.    To  his  surprise  he  found  the  other 
four  already  gathered  together.     Evidently  his  being  called 
off  the  work  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  broken  finger,  as  he 
had  at  first  supposed. 

"Well,  I  guess  we'll  have  to  fall  back,"  said  Morton 
composedly.  "It's  got  away  from  us." 

Without  further  comment  he  shouldered  his  implements 
and  took  his  way  up  the  hill.  Bob  handed  his  hoe  and 
rake  to  Jack  Pollock. 

"Carry  'em  a  minute,"  he  explained.  "I  hurt  my  hand 
a  little." 

As  he  walked  along  he  bound  the  finger  roughly  to  its 
neighbour,  and  on  both  tied  a  rude  splint. 

"What's  up?"  he  muttered  to  Jack,  as  he  worked  at 
this. 

"  I  reckon  we  must  be  goin'  to  start  a  fire  line  back  of 
the  next  cross-bridge  somewheres,"  Jack  ventured  his 
opinion. 

Bob  stopped  short. 

"Then  we've  abandoned  the  old  one!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Complete,"  spoke  up  Ware,  who  overheard. 

"And  all  the  work  we've  done  there  is  useless?" 

"Absolutely." 

"We've  got  it  all  to  do  over  again  from  the  beginning?" 

"Certain  sure." 

427 


428          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Bob  adjusted  his  mind  to  this  new  and  rather  overwhelm- 
ing idea. 

"  I  saw  Senator  What's-his-name  —  from  Montana  — 
made  a  speech  the  other  day,"  spoke  up  Elliott,  "in  which 
he  attacked  the  Service  because  he  said  it  was  a  refuge  for 
consumptives  and  incompetents!" 

At  this  moment  Amy  rode  up  draped  with  canteens  and 
balancing  carefully  a  steaming  pail  of  coffee.  She  was 
accompanied  by  another  woman  similarly  provided. 

The  newcomer  was  a  decided-looking  girl  under  thirty, 
with  a  full,  strong  figure,  pronounced  flaxen-blond  hair, 
a  clear  though  somewhat  sunburned  skin,  blue  eyes,  and  a 
flash  of  strong,  white  teeth.  Bob  had  never  seen  her  before, 
but  he  recognized  her  as  a  mountain  woman.  She  rode  a 
pinto,  guided  by  a  hackamore,  and  was  attired  quite  simply 
in  the  universal  broad  felt  hat  and  a  serviceable  blue  calico 
gown.  In  spite  of  this  she  rode  astride;  and  rode  well. 
A  throwing  rope,  or  riata,  hung  in  the  sling  at  the  right  side 
of  her  saddle  pommel;  and  it  looked  as  though  it  had  been 
used. 

"Where's  Charley?"  she  asked  promptly  as  she  rode  up. 
"Is  that  you?  You  look  like  a  nigger.  How  you 
feeling?  You  just  mind  me,  and  don't  you  try  to  do  too 
much.  You  don't  get  paid  for  overtime  at  this  job." 

"Hullo,  Lou,"  replied  Charley  Morton;  "I  thought  it 
was  about  time  you  showed  up." 

The  woman  nodded  at  the  others. 

"Howdy,  Mrs.  Morton,"  answered  Tom  Carroll,  Pol- 
lock and  Ware.  Bob  and  Elliott  bowed. 

By  now  the  fire  had  been  left  far  in  the  rear.  The  crack- 
ling of  flames  had  died  in  the  distance;  even  the  smoke 
cleared  from  the  atmosphere.  All  the  forest  was  peaceful 
and  cool.  The  Douglas  squirrels  scampered  and  barked; 
the  birds  twittered  and  flashed  or  slanted  in  long  flight 
through  the  trees;  the  sun  shone  soft;  a  cool  breeze  ruffled 
the  feathery  tips  of  the  tarweed. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          429 

At  the  top  of  the  ridge  Charley  Morton  called  a  halt. 

"This  is  pretty  easy  country,"  said  he.  " We'll  run  the 
line  square  down  either  side.  Get  busy." 

"Have  a  cup  of  coffee  first,"  urged  Amy. 

"  Surely.     Forgot  that." 

They  drank  the  coffee,  finding  it  good,  and  tucked 
away  the  lunches  Amy,  with  her  unfailing  forethought,  had 
brought  them. 

"Good-bye!"  she  called  gaily;  "I've  got  to  get  back  to 
camp  before  the  fire  cuts  me  off.  I  won't  see  you  again 
till  the  fire  burns  me  out  a  way  to  get  to  you." 

"Take  my  horse,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Morton,  dismounting. 
"You  don't  need  me  in  camp." 

Amy  took  the  lead  rein  and  rode  away  as  a  matter  of 
course.  She  was  quite  alone  to  guard  the  horses  and  camp 
equipage  on  the  little  knoll  while  the  fire  spent  its  fury  all 
around  her.  Everybody  seemed  to  take  the  matter  for 
granted;  but  Bob  looked  after  her  with  mingled  feelings 
of  anxiety  and  astonishment.  This  Western  breed  of 
girl  was  still  beyond  his  comprehension. 

The  work  was  at  once  begun.  In  spite  of  the  cruel  throb 
of  his  injured  hand,  Bob  found  the  labour  pleasant  by  sheer 
force  of  contrast.  The  air  was  cool,  the  shade  refreshing, 
the  frantic  necessity  of  struggle  absent.  He  raked  care- 
fully his  broad  path  among  the  pine  needles,  laying  bare 
the  brown  earth;  hoed  and  chopped  in  the  tarweed  and 
brush.  Several  times  Charley  Morton  passed  him.  Each 
time  the  ranger  paused  for  a  moment  to  advise  him. 

"You  ought  to  throw  your  line  farther  back,"  he  told 
Bob.  "See  that  ' dead-and-down '  ahead?  If  you  let  that 
cross  your  fire  line,  it'll  carry  the  fire  sooner  or  later,  sure; 
and  if  you  curve  your  line  too  quick  to  go  around  it,  the 
fire'll  jump.  You  want  to  keep  your  eye  out  'way  ahead." 

Once  Bob  caught  a  glimpse  of  blue  calico  through  the 
trees.  As  he  came  nearer,  he  was  surprised  to  see  Mrs. 
Morton  working  away  stoutly  with  a  hoe.  Her  skirts  were 


430          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

turned  back,  her  sleeves  rolled  up  to  display  a  while  and 
plump  forearm,  the  neck  of  her  gown  loosened  to  show  a 
round  and  well-moulded  neck.  The  strokes  of  her  hoe 
were  as  vigorous  as  those  of  any  of  the  men.  In  watching 
the  strong,  free  movements  of  her  body,  Bob  forgot  for  a 
moment  what  had  been  intruding  itself  on  him  with  more 
and  more  insistance  —  the  throb  of  his  broken  hand. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  the  fire  line  was  well  under  way. 
But  now  wisps  of  smoke  began  to  drift  down  the  tree  aisles. 
Birds  shot  past,  at  first  by  ones  and  twos,  later  in  flocks. 
A  deer  that  must  have  lain  perdu  to  let  them  pass  bounded 
across  the  ridge,  his  head  high,  his  nostrils  wide.  The 
squirrels  ran  chattering  down  the  trees,  up  others,  leaped 
across  the  gaps,  working  always  farther  and  farther  to  the 
north.  The  cool  breeze  carried  with  it  puffs  of  hot  air. 
Finally  in  distant  openings  could  be  discerned  little  busy, 
flickering  flames.  All  at  once  the  thought  gripped  Bob 
hard:  the  might  of  the  fire  was  about  to  test  the  quality  of 
his  work! 

"  There  she  comes! "  gasped  Charley  Morton.  "  My  Lord, 
how  she's  run  to-day!  We  got  to  close  the  line  to  that  stone 
dike." 

By  one  of  the  lightning  transitions  of  motive  with  which 
these  activities  seemed  to  abound,  the  affair  had  become  a 
very  deadly  earnest  sort  of  race.  It  was  simple.  If  the 
men  could  touch  the  dike  before  the  fire,  they  won. 

The  realization  of  this  electrified  even  the  weary  spirits 
of  the  fire-fighters.  They  redoubled  their  efforts.  The 
hoes,  mattocks  and  axes  rose  and  fell  feverishly.  Mrs. 
Morton,  the  perspiration  matting  her  beautiful  and  shining 
hair  across  her  forehead,  laboured  with  the  best.  The 
fire,  having  gained  the  upward-rising  slope,  came  at  them 
with  the  speed  of  an  enemy  charging.  Soon  they  were 
fairly  choked  by  the  dense  clouds  of  smoke,  fairly  scorched 
by  the  waves  of  heat.  Sweat  poured  from  them  in  streams. 
Bob  utterly  forgot  his  wounded  hand. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          431 

And  then,  when  they  were  within  a  scant  fifty  yards  of 
the  dike  which  was  intended  to  be  their  right  wing,  the  flames 
sprang  with  a  roar  to  new  life.  Up  the  slope  they  galloped, 
whirled  around  the  end  of  the  fire  line,  and  began  eagerly 
to  lick  up  the  tarweed  and  needles  of  the  ridge-top. 

Bob  and  Elliott  uttered  a  simultaneous  cry  of  dismay. 
The  victory  had  seemed  fairly  in  their  grasp.  Now  all 
chance  of  it  was  snatched  away. 

"Poor  guess,"  said  Charley  Morton.  The  men,  with- 
out other  comment,  shouldered  their  implements  and  set  off 
on  a  dog-trot  after  their  leader.  The  ranger  merely  fell 
back  to  the  next  natural  barrier. 

"Now,  let's  see  if  we  can't  hold  her,  boys,"  said  he. 

Twice  again  that  day  were  these  scenes  reenacted.  The 
same  result  obtained.  Each  time  it  seemed  to  Bob  that 
he  could  do  no  more.  His  hand  felt  as  big  as  a  pillow,  and 
his  whole  arm  and  shoulder  ached.  Besides  this  he  was 
tired  out.  Amy  had  been  cut  off  from  them  by  the  fire. 
In  two  days  they  had  had  but  an  hour's  sleep.  Water  had 
long  since  given  out  on  them.  The  sun  beat  hot  and  merci- 
less, assisting  its  kinsman,  the  fire.  Bob  would,  if  left  to 
himself,  have  given  up  the  contest  long  since.  It  seemed 
ridiculous  that  this  little  handful  of  men  should  hope  to 
arrest  anything  so  mighty,  so  proud,  so  magnificent  as  this 
great  conflagration.  As  well  expect  a  colony  of  ants  to 
stop  a  break  in  the  levee.  But  Morton  continued  to  fall 
back  as  though  each  defeat  were  a  matter  of  course.  He 
seemed  unwearied,  though  beneath  the  smoke-black  his 
eyes  were  hollow.  Mrs.  Morton  did  her  part  with  the  rest, 
strong  as  a  man  for  all  her  feminine  attraction,  for  all  the 
soft  lines  of  her  figure. 

"I'll  drop  back  far  enough  this  time,"  Charley  muttered 
to  her,  as  they  were  thrown  together  in  their  last  retreat. 
"Can't  seem  to  get  far  enough  back!" 

"There's  too  few  of  us  to  handle  such  a  big  fire,"  his 
wife  replied.  "You  can't  do  it  with  six  men." 


432          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Seven,"  amended  Charley.  "  You're  as  good  as  any  of 
us.  Don't  you  worry,  Lou.  Even  if  we  don't  stop  her  — 
and  I  think  we  will  —  we're  checking  the  run  of  her  until 
we  get  help.  We're  doing  well.  There's  only  two  old 
fire-fighters  in  the  lot  —  you  and  me.  All  the  rest  is  green 
hands.  We're  doing  almighty  well." 

Overhearing  this  Bob  plucked  up  heart.  These  des- 
perate stands  were  not  then  so  wasted  as  he  had  thought 
them.  At  least  the  fire  was  checked  at  each  defence  —  it 
was  not  permitted  to  run  wild  over  the  country. 

"We  ought  to  get  help  before  long,"  he  said. 

"To-morrow,  I  figure,"  replied  Charley  Morton.  "The 
boys  are  scattered  wide,  finishing  odds  and  ends  before 
coming  in  for  the  Fourth.  It'll  be  about  impossible  to  get 
hold  of  any  of  'em  except  by  accident.  But  they'll  all  come 
in  for  the  Fourth." 

The  next  defence  was  successfully  completed  before  the 
fire  reached  it.  Bob  felt  a  sudden  rush  of  most  extraordi- 
nary and  vivifying  emotion.  A  moment  ago  he  had  been 
ready  to  drop  in  his  tracks,  indifferent  whether  the  fire 
burned  him  as  he  lay.  Now  he  felt  ready  to  go  on  forever. 
Bert  Elliott  found  energy  enough  to  throw  his  hat  into  the 
air,  while  Jack  shook  his  fist  at  the  advancing  fire. 

"We  fooled  him  that  time!"  cried  Elliott. 

"Bet  you!"  growled  Pollock. 

The  other  men  and  the  woman  stood  leaning  on  the  long 
handles  of  their  implements  staring  at  the  advancing  flames. 

Morton  aroused  himself  with  an  effort. 

"Do  your  best  boys,"  said  he  briefly.  "There  she  comes. 
Another  hour  will  tell  whether  we've  stopped  her.  Then 
we've  got  to  hold  her.  Scatter!" 

The  day  had  passed  without  anybody's  being  aware  of 
the  fact.  The  cool  of  the  evening  was  already  falling,  and 
the  fierceness  of  the  conflagration  was  falling  in  accord. 

They  held  the  line  until  the  flames  had  burned  themselves 
out  against  it.  Then  they  took  up  their  weary  patrol.  Last 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          433 

night,  when  Bob  was  fresh,  this  part  of  fire-fighting  had 
seemed  the  hardest  kind  of  hard  work.  Now,  crippled 
and  weary  as  he  was,  in  contrast  to  the  day's  greater  labour, 
it  had  become  comparatively  easy.  About  eight  o'clock 
Amy,  having  found  a  way  through,  appeared  leading  all 
the  horses,  saddled  and  packed. 

"You  boys  came  a  long  way,"  she  explained  simply, 
"and  I  thought  I'd  bring  over  camp." 

She  distributed  food,  and  made  trips  down  the  fire  line 
with  coffee. 

In  this  manner  the  night  passed.  The  line  had  been 
held.  No  one  had  slept.  Sunrise  found  Bob  and  Jack 
Pollock  far  down  the  mountain.  They  were  doggedly  beat- 
ing back  some  tiny  flames.  The  camp  was  a  thousand 
feet  above,  and  their  canteens  had  long  been  empty.  Bob 
raised  his  weary  eyes. 

Out  on  a  rock  inside  the  burned  area,  like  a  sentinel  cast 
in  bronze,  stood  a  horseman.  The  light  was  behind  him, 
so  only  his  outline  could  be  seen.  For  a  minute  he  stood 
there  quite  motionless,  looking.  Then  he  moved  forward, 
and  another  came  up  behind  him  on  the  rock.  This  one 
advanced,  and  a  third  took  his  place.  One  after  the  other, 
in  single  file,  they  came,  glittering  in  the  sun,  their  long 
rakes  and  hoes  slanted  over  their  shoulders  like  spears. 

"Look!"  gasped  Bob  weakly. 

The  two  stood  side  by  side  spellbound.  The  tiny  flames 
licked  past  them  in  the  tarweed;  they  did  not  heed.  The 
horsemen  rode  up,  twenty  strong.  It  seemed  to  Bob  that 
they  said  things,  and  shouted.  Certainly  a  half-dozen 
leaped  spryly  off  their  horses  and  in  an  instant  had  confined 
the  escaping  fire.  Somebody  took  Bob's  hoe  from  him.  A 
cheery  voice  shouted  in  his  ear: 

"Hop  along!  You're  through.  We're  on  the  job.  Go 
back  to  camp  and  take  a  sleep." 

He  and  Pollock  turned  up  the  mountain.  Bob  felt  stupid. 
After  he  had  gone  a  hundred  feet,  he  realized  he  was  thirsty, 


434          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

and  wondered  why  he  had  not  asked  for  a  drink.  Then 
it  came  to  him  that  he  might  have  borrowed  a  horse,  but 
remembered  thickly  after  a  long  time  the  impassable  dikes 
between  him  and  camp. 

"  That's  why  I  didn't,"  he  said  aloud. 

By  this  time  it  was  too  late  to  go  back  for  the  drink.  He 
did  not  care.  The  excitement  and  responsibility  had  drained 
from  him  suddenly,  leaving  him  a  hollow  shell. 

They  dragged  themselves  up  the  dike. 

"I'd  give  a  dollar  and  a  half  for  a  drink  of  water!"  said 
Pollock  suddenly. 

They  stumbled  and  staggered  on.  A  twig  sufficed  to 
trip  them.  Pollock  muttered  between  set  teeth,  over  and 
over  again,  his  unvarying  complaint:  "I'd  give  a  dollar 
and  a  half  for  a  drink  of  water!" 

Finally,  with  a  flicker  of  vitality,  Bob's  sense  of  humour 
cleared  for  an  instant. 

"Not  high  enough,"  said  he.  "Make  it  two  dollars,  and 
maybe  some  angel  will  hand  you  out  a  glass." 

"That's  all  right,"  returned  Pollock  resentfully,  "but 
I  bet  there's  some  down  in  that  hollow;  and  I'm  going  to 
see!" 

"I  wouldn't  climb  down  there  for  a  million  drinks,"  said 
Bob;  "I'll  sit  down  and  wait  for  you." 

Pollock  climbed  down,  found  his  water,  drank.  He  filled 
the  canteen  and  staggered  back  up  the  steep  climb. 

"Here  you  be,"  said  he. 

Bob  seized  the  canteen  and  drank  deep.  When  he  took 
breath,  he  said: 

"Thank  you,   Jack,     That  was  an  awful  climb  back." 

"That's  all  right."  nodded  Jack  shortly. 

"Well,  come  on,"  said  Bob. 

"The  helll"   muttered  Jack,  and  fell  over  sound  asleep. 

An  hour  later  Bob  felt  himself  being  shaken  violently. 
He  stirred  and  advanced  a  little  way  toward  the  light,  then 
dropped  back  like  a  plummet  into  the  abysses  of  sleep. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          435 

Afterward  he  recalled  a  vague,  half-conscious  impression 
oi  being  lifted  on  a  horse.  Possibly  he  managed  to  hang  on; 
possibly  he  was  held  in  the  saddle  —  that  he  never  knew. 

The  next  thing  he  seemed  conscious  of  was  the  flicker 
of  a  camp-fire,  and  the  soft  feel  of  blankets.  It  was  night, 
but  how  it  came  to  be  so  he  could  not  imagine.  He  was 
very  stiff  and  sore  and  burned,  and  his  hand  was  very  pain- 
ful. He  moved  it,  and  discovered,  to  his  vast  surprise, 
that  it  was  bound  tightly.  When  this  bit  of  surgery  had 
been  performed  he  could  not  have  told. 

He  opened  his  eyes.  Amy  and  Mrs.  Morton  were  bend- 
ing over  cooking  utensils.  Five  motionless  forms  reposed 
in  blankets.  Bob  counted  them  carefully.  After  some 
moments  it  occurred  to  his  dulled  brain  that  the  number  repre- 
sented his  companions.  Some  one  on  horseback  seemed 
to  be  arriving.  A  glitter  of  silver  caught  his  eye.  He  recog- 
nized finally  California  John.  Then  he  dozed  off  again. 
The  sound  of  voices  rumbled  through  the  haze  of  his  half- 
consciousness. 

''Fifty  hours  of  steady  fire-fighting  with  only  an  hour's 
sleep!"  he  caught  Thome's  voice  saying. 

Bob  took  this  statement  into  himself.  He  computed 
painfully  over  and  over.  He  could  not  make  the  figures. 
He  counted  the  hours  one  after  the  other.  Finally  he  saw. 

"  Fifty  hours  for  all  but  Pollock  and  me,"  he  said  sud- 
denly; "forty  for  us." 

No  one  heard  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  not  spoken 
aloud;  though  he  thought  he  had  done  so. 

"We  found  the  two  of  them  curled  up  together,"  he  next 
heard  Thorne  say.  "  Orde  was  coiled  around  a  sharp  root  — 
and  didn't  know  it,  and  Pollock  was  on  top  of  him.  They 
were  out  in  the  full  sun,  and  a  procession  of  red  ants  was  dis- 
appearing up  Orde's  pants  leg  and  coming  out  at  his  col- 
lar. Fact!" 

"They're  a  good  lot,"  admitted  California  John.  "Best 
unbroke  lot  I  ever  saw." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"We  found  Orde's  finger  broken  and  badly  swelled. 
Heaven  knows  when  he  did  it,  but  he  never  peeped.  Mor- 
ton says  he  noticed  his  hand  done  up  in  a  handkerchief 
yesterday  morning." 

Bob  dozed  again.  From  time  to  time  he  caught  frag- 
ments —  "Four  fire-lines  —  think  of  it  —  only  one  old- 
timer  in  the  lot  —  I'm  proud  of  my  boys ' 

He  came  next  to  full  consciousness  to  hear  Thorne  saying: 

"Mrs.  Morton  fought  fire  with  the  best  of  them.  That's 
the  ranger  spirit  I  like  —  when  as  of  old  the  women  and 
children " 

"Don't  praise  me,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Morton  tartly.  "I 
don't  give  a  red  cent  for  all  your  forests,  and  your  pesky 
rangering.  I've  got  no  use  for  them.  If  Charley  Morton 
would  quit  you  and  tend  to  his  cattle,  I'd  be  pleased.  I 
didn't  fight  fire  to  help  you,  let  me  tell  you." 

"What  did  you  do  it  for?"  asked  Thorne,  evidently 
amused. 

"I  knew  I  couldn't  get  Charley  Morton  home  and  in 
bed  and  resting  until  that  pesky  fire  was  out;  that's  why!" 
shot  back  Mrs.  Morton. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Morton,"  said  Thorne  composedly,  "if 
you're  ever  fixed  so  sass  will  help  you  out,  you'll  find  it  a 
very  valuable  quality." 

Then  Bob  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 


VII 

ON  RETURNING  to  headquarters,  as  Bob  was  natu- 
rally somewhat  incapacitated  for  manual  work,  he 
was  given  the  fire  patrol.  This  meant  that  every 
day  he  was  required  to  ride  to  four  several  ''lookouts"  on  the 
main  ridge,  from  which  points  he  could  spy  abroad  care- 
fully over  vast  stretches  of  mountainous  country.  One  of 
these  was  near  the  meadow  of  the  cold  spring  whence  the 
three  of  them  had  first  caught  sight  of  the  Granite  Creek  fire. 
Thence  he  turned  sharp  to  the  north  along  the  ridge  top. 
The  trail  led  among  great  trees  that  dropped  away  to  right 
and  left  on  the  slopes  of  the  mountain.  Through  them  he 
caught  glimpses  of  the  blue  distance,  or  far-off  glittering 
snow,  or  unexpected  canon  depths.  The  riding  was  smooth, 
over  undulating  knolls.  Every  once  in  a  while  passing 
through  a  "  puerto  suelo"  he  looked  on  either  side  to  tiny 
green  meadows,  from  which  streams  were  born.  Occas- 
ionally he  saw  a  deer,  or  more  likely  small  bands  of  the 
wild  mountain  cattle  that  swung  along  before  him,  heads 
held  high,  eyes  staring,  nostrils  expanded.  Then  Bob  felt 
his  pony's  muscles  stiffen  beneath  his  thighs,  and  saw  th» 
animal's  little  ears  prick  first  forward  at  the  cattle,  then 
back  for  his  master's  commands. 

After  three  miles  of  this  he  came  out  on  a  broad  plateau 
formed  by  the  joining  of  his  ridge  with  that  of  the  Baldy 
range.  Here  Granite  Creek  itself  rose,  and  the  stream  that 
flowed  by  the  mill.  It  was  a  country  of  wild,  park-like 
vistas  between  small  pines,  with  a  floor  of  granite  and  shale. 
Over  it  frowned  the  steeps  of  Baldy,  with  its  massive 
•domes,  its  sheer  precipices,  and  its  scant  tree-growth  cling- 

437 


438          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

ing  to  its  sides.  Against  the  sky  it  looked  very  rugged, 
very  old,  very  formidable;  and  the  sky,  behind  its  yellowed 
age,  was  inconceivably  blue. 

Sometimes  Bob  rode  up  into  the  pass.  More  often  he 
tied  his  horse  and  took  the  steep  rough  trail  afoot.  The 
way  was  guarded  by  strange,  distorted  trees,  and  rocks 
carved  into  fantastic  shapes.  Some  of  them  were  piled 
high  like  temples.  Others,  round  and  squat,  resembled 
the  fat  and  obscene  deities  of  Eastern  religions.  There 
were  seals  and  elephants  and  crocodiles  and  allegorical 
monsters,  some  of  them  as  tiny  as  the  grotesque  Japanese 
carvings,  others  as  stupendous  as  Egypt.  The  trail  led  by 
them,  among  them,  between  them.  At  their  feet  clutched 
snowbush,  ground  juniper,  the  gnarled  fingers  of  man- 
zanita,  like  devotees.  A  foaming  little  stream  crept  and 
plunged  over  bare  and  splintered  rocks.  Twisted  junipers 
and  the  dwarf  pines  of  high  elevations  crouched  like  malig- 
nant gnomes  amongst  the  boulders,  or  tossed  their  arms 
like  witches  on  the  crags.  This  bold  and  splintered  range 
rose  from  the  sof  jness  and  mystery  of  the  great  pine  woods 
on  the  lower  ridge  as  a  rock  rises  above  cool  water. 

The  pass  itself  was  not  over  fifty  feet  wide.  Either 
side  of  it  like  portals  were  the  high  peaks.  It  lay  like  the 
notch  of  a  rifle  sight  between  them.  Once  having  gained 
the  tiny  platform,  Bob  would  sit  down  and  look  abroad 
over  the  wonderful  Sierra. 

Never  did  he  tire  of  this.  At  one  eye-glance  he  could 
comprehend  a  summer's  toilsome  travel.  To  reach  yonder 
snowy  peak  would  consume  the  greater  part  of  a  week. 
Unlike  the  Swiss  alps,  which  he  had  once  visited,  these 
mountains  were  not  only  high,  but  wide  as  well.  They 
had  the  whole  of  blue  space  in  which  to  lie.  They  were 
like  the  stars,  for  when  Bob  had  convinced  himself  that 
his  eye  had  settled  on  the  farthest  peak,  then  still  farther, 
taking  half-guessed  iridescent  form  out  of  the  blue,  another 
shone. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  439 

But  his  business  was  not  with  these  distances.  Almost 
below  him,  so  precipitous  is  the  easterly  slope  of  Baldy, 
lay  canons,  pine  forests,  lesser  ridges,  streams,  the  green 
of  meadows.  Patiently,  piece  by  piece,  he  must  go  over 
all  this,  watching  for  that  faint  blue  haze,  that  deep- 
ening of  the  atmosphere,  that  almost  imagined  pearliness 
against  the  distant  hills  which  meant  new  fire. 

" Don't  look  for  smoke"  California  John  had  told  him. 
"When  a  fire  gets  big  enough  for  smoke,  you  can't  help 
but  see  it.  It's  the  new  fire  you  want  to  spot  before  it  gets 
started.  Then  it's  easy  handled.  And  new  fire's  almighty 
easy  to  overlook.  Sometimes  it's  as  hard  for  a  greenhorn 
to  see  as  a  deer.  Look  close!" 

So  Bob,  concentrating  his  attention,  looked  close.  When 
he  had  satisfied  himself,  he  turned  square  around. 

From  this  point  of  view  he  saw  only  pine  forests.  They 
covered  the  ridge  below  him  like  a  soft  green  mantle  thrown 
down  in  folds.  They  softened  the  more  distant  ranges. 
They  billowed  and  eddied,  and  dropped  into  unguessed 
depths,  and  came  bravely  up  to  eyesight  again  far  away. 
At  last  they  seemed  to  change  colour  abruptly,  and  a  brown 
haze  overcast  them  through  which  glimmered  a  hint  of  yel- 
low. This  Bob  knew  was  the  plain,  hot  and  brown  under 
the  July  sun.  It  rose  dimly  through  the  mist  to  the  height 
of  his  eye.  Thus,  even  at  eight  thousand  feet,  Bob  seemed 
to  stand  in  the  cup  of  the  earth,  beneath  the  cup  of  the  sky. 

The  other  two  lookouts  were  on  the  edge  of  the  lower 
ridge.  They  gave  an  opportunity  of  examining  various 
coves  and  valleys  concealed  by  the  shoulder  of  the  ridge 
from  the  observer  on  Baldy.  To  reach  them  Bob  rode 
across  the  plateau  of  the  ridge,  through  the  pine  forests, 
past  the  mill. 

Here,  if  the  afternoon  was  not  too  far  advanced,  he  used 
to  allow  himself  the  luxury  of  a  moment's  chat  with  some 
of  his  old  friends.  Welton,  coat  off,  his  burly  face  per- 
spiring and  red,  always  greeted  him  jovially. 


440          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Spend  all  your  salary  this  month?"  he  would  ask, 
"  Does  the  business  keep  you  occupied  ?  "  And  once  or  twice, 
seriously,  "Bob,  haven't  you  had  enough  of  this  confounded 
nonsense?  You're  getting  too  old  to  find  any  great  fun 
riding  around  in  this  kid  fashion  pretending  to  do  things. 
There's  big  business  to  be  done  in  this  country,  and  we 
need  you  boys  to  help.  When  I  was  a  youngster  I'd  have 
jumped  hard  at  half  the  chance  that's  offered  you." 

But  Bob  never  would  answer  seriously.  He  knew  this 
to  be  his  only  chance  of  avoiding  even  a  deeper  misunder- 
standing between  himself  and  this  man  whom  he  had  learned 
to  admire  and  love. 

Once  he  met  Baker.  That  young  man  greeted  him  as 
gaily  as  ever,  but  into  his  manner  had  crept  the  shadow  of 
a  cold  contempt.  The  stout  youth's  standards  were  his 
own,  and  rigid,  as  is  often  the  case  with  people  of  his  type. 
Bob  felt  himself  suddenly  and  ruthlessly  excluded  from  the 
ranks  of  those  worthy  of  Baker's  respect.  A  hard  quality 
of  character,  hitherto  unsuspected,  stared  from  the  fat  young 
man's  impudent  blue  eyes.  Baker  was  perfectly  polite, 
and  suitably  jocular;  but  he  had  not  much  time  for  Bob; 
and  soon  plunged  into  a  deep  discussion  with  Welton  from 
which  Bob  was  unmistakably  excluded. 

On  one  occasion,  too,  he  encountered  Oldham  riding  down 
the  trail  from  headquarters.  The  older  man  had  nodded 
to  him  curtly.  His  eyes  had  gleamed  through  his  glasses 
with  an  ill-concealed  and  frosty  amusement,  and  his  thin 
lips  had  straightened  to  a  perceptible  sneer.  All  at  once  Bob 
divined  an  enemy.  He  could  not  account  for  this,  as  he 
had  never  dealt  with  the  man;  and  the  accident  of  his  dis- 
covering the  gasoline  pump  on  the  Lucky  Land  Company's 
creeks  could  hardly  be  supposed  to  account  for  quite  so 
malignant  a  triumph.  Next  time  Bob  saw  Welton,  he 
asked  his  old  employer  about  it. 

"What  have  I  ever  done  to  Oldham?"  he  inquired. 
"Do  you  know?" 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          441 

"Oldham?"  repeated  Welton. 

"Baker's  land  agent." 

"Oh,  yes.  I  never  happened  to  run  across  him.  Don't 
know  him  at  all." 

Bob  put  down  Oldham's  manifest  hatred  to  pettiness  of 
disposition. 

Even  from  Merker,  the  philosophic  storekeeper,  Bob 
obtained  scant  comfort. 

"Men  like  you,  with  ability,  youth,  energy,"  said  Merker, 
"producing  nothing,  just  conserving,  saving.  Conditions 
should  be  such  that  the  possibility  of  fire,  of  trespass,  of 
all  you  fellows  guard  against,  should  be  eliminated.  Then 
you  could  supply  steam,  energy,  accomplishment,  instead 
of  being  merely  the  lubrication.  It's  an  economic  waste.'* 

Bob  left  the  mill-yards  half-depressed,  haif-amused.  All 
his  people  had  become  alien.  He  opposed  them  in  noth- 
ing, his  work  in  no  way  interfered  with  their  activities;  yet, 
without  his  volition,  and  probably  without  their  realization, 
he  was  already  looked  upon  as  one  to  be  held  at  arms'  length. 
It  saddened  Bob,  as  it  does  every  right-thinking  young  man 
when  he  arrives  at  setting  up  his  own  standards  of  con- 
duct and  his  own  ways  of  life.  He  longed  with  a  great 
longing,  which  at  the  same  time  he  realized  to  be  hopeless, 
to  make  these  people  feel  as  he  felt.  It  gave  him  real  pain 
to  find  that  his  way  of  life  could  never  gain  anything  beyond 
disapproval  or  incomprehension.  It  took  considerable 
fortitude  to  conclude  that  he  now  must  build  his  own  struc- 
ture, unsupported.  He  was  entering  the  loneliness  of  soul 
inseparable  from  complete  manhood. 

After  such  disquieting  contacts,  the  more  uncomfortable 
in  that  they  defied  analysis,  Bob  rode  out  to  the  last  look- 
out and  gazed  abroad  over  the  land.  The  pineclad  bluff 
fell  away  nearly  four  thousand  feet.  Below  him  the  country 
lay  spread  like  a  relief  map  —  valley,  lesser  ranges,  foot- 
hills, far-off  plain,  the  green  of  trees,  the  brown  of  grass  and 
harvest,  the  blue  of  glimpsed  water,  the  haze  of  heat  and 


442          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

great  distance,  the  thread-like  gossamer  of  roads,  the  half- 
guessed  shimmer  of  towns  and  cities  in  the  mirage  of  summer, 
all  the  opulence  of  earth  and  the  business  of  human  activity. 
Millions  dwelt  in  that  haze,  and  beyond  them,  across  the 
curve  of  the  earth,  hundreds  of  millions  more,  each  actu- 
ated by  its  own  selfishness  or  charity,  by  its  own  conception 
of  the  things  nearest  it.  Not  one  in  a  multitude  saw  or 
cared  beyond  the  immediate,  nor  bothered  his  head  with 
what  it  all  meant,  or  whether  it  meant  anything.  Bob,  sit- 
ting on  his  motionless  horse  high  up  there  in  the  world, 
elevated  above  it  all,  in  an  isolation  of  pines,  close  under 
his  sky,  bent  his  ear  to  the  imagined  faint  humming  of  the 
spheres.  Affairs  went  on.  The  machine  fulfilled  its  func- 
tion. All  things  had  their  place,  the  evil  as  well  as  the  good, 
the  waste  as  well  as  the  building,  balancing  like  the  governor 
of  an  engine  the  opposition  of  forces.  He  saw,  by  the  soft 
flooding  of  light,  rather  than  by  any  flash  of  insight,  that 
were  the  shortsightedness,  the  indifference,  the  ignorance, 
the  crass  selfishness  to  be  eliminated  before  yet  the  world's 
work  was  done,  the  energies  of  men,  running  too  easily,  would 
outstrip  the  development  of  the  Plan,  as  a  machine  "races" 
without  its  load.  A  humility  came  to  him.  His  not  to 
judge  his  fellows  by  the  mere  externals  of  their  deeds.  He 
could  only  act  honestly  according  to  what  he  saw,  as  he  hoped 
others  were  doing. 

"  Just  so  a  man  isn't  mean,  I  don't  know  as  I  have  any 
right  to  despise  him,"  he  summed  it  all  up  to  his  horse. 
"But,"  he  added  cheerfully,  "that  doesn't  prevent  my  kick- 
ing him  into  the  paths  of  righteousness  if  he  tries  to  steal 
my  watch." 

The  sun  dipped  toward  the  heat  haze  of  the  plains.  It 
was  from  a  golden  world  that  Bob  turned  at  last  to  ride 
through  the  forest  to  the  cheerfulness  of  his  rude  camp. 


VIII 

BOB  took  his  examinations,  passed  successfully,  and 
was  at  once  appointed  as  ranger.  Thorne  had 
no  intention  of  neglecting  the  young  man's  ability. 
After  his  arduous  apprenticeship  at  all  sorts  of  labour,  Bob 
found  himself  specializing.  This,  he  discovered,  was 
becoming  more  and  more  the  tendency  in  the  personnel  of 
the  Service.  Jack  Pollock  already  was  being  sent  far  afield, 
looking  into  grazing  conditions,  reporting  on  the  state  of 
the  range,  the  advisable  number  of  cattle,  the  trespass 
cases.  He  had  a  natural  aptitude  for  that  sort  of  thing. 
Ware,  on  the  other  hand,  developed  into  a  mighty  builder. 
Nothing  pleased  him  more  than  to  discover  new  ways 
through  the  country,  to  open  them  up,  to  blast  and  dig  and 
construct  his  trails,  to  nose  out  bridge  sites  and  on  them  to 
build  spans  hewn  from  the  material  at  hand.  He  made 
himself  a  set  of  stencils  and  with  them  signed  all  the  forks 
of  the  trails,  so  that  a  stranger  could  follow  the  routes. 
Always  he  painstakingly  added  the  letters  U.  S.  F.  S.  to  indi- 
cate that  these  works  had  been  done  by  his  beloved  Service. 
Charley  Morton  was  the  fire  chief  —  though  any  and  all 
took  a  hand  at  that  when  occasion  arose.  He  could,  as 
California  John  expressed  it,  run  a  fire  out  on  a  rocky  point 
and  lose  it  there  better  than  any  other  man  on  the  force. 
Ross  Fletcher  was  the  best  policeman.  He  knew  the  moun- 
tains, their  infinite  labyrinths,  better  than  any  other;  and 
he  could  guess  the  location  of  sheep  where  another  might 
have  searched  all  summer. 

Though  each  and  every  man  was  kept  busy  enough,  and 
to  spare,  on  all  the  varied  business  inseparable  from  the 

443 


444          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

activities  of  a  National  Forest,  nevertheless  Thorne  knew 
enough  to  avail  himself  of  these  especial  gifts  and  likings. 
So,  early  in  the  summer  he  called  in  Bob  and  Elliott. 

"Now,"  he  told  them,  "we  have  plenty  of  work  to  do, 
and  you  boys  must  buckle  into  it  as  you  see  fit.  But  this 
is  what  I.  want  you  to  keep  in  the  back  of  your  mind:  some- 
day the  National  Forests  are  going  to  supply  a  great  part 
of  the  timber  in  the  country.  It's  too  early  yet.  There;& 
too  much  private  timber  standing,  v  rhich  can  be  cut  without 
restriction.  But  when  that  is  largely  reduced,  Uncle  Sam 
will  be  going  into  the  lumber  business  on  a  big  scale.  Even 
now  we  will  be  selling  a  few  shake  trees,  and  some  small 
lots,  and  occasionally  a  bigger  piece  to  some  of  the  lumber- 
men  who  own  adjoining  timber.  We've  got  to  know  what 
we  have  to  sell.  For  instance,  there's  eighty  acres  in  there 
surrounded  by  Welton's  timber.  When  he  comes  to  cut, 
it  might  pay  us  and  him  to  sell  the  ripe  trees  off  that  eighty." 

"I  doubt  if  he'd  think  it  would  pay,"  Bob  interposed. 

"He  might.  I  think  the  Chief  will  ease  up  a  little  on 
cutting  restrictions  before  long.  You've  simply  got  to  over- 
emphasize a  matter  at  first  to  make  it  carry." 

"You  mean ?" 

"I  mean  —  this  is  only  my  private  opinion,  you  under- 
stand—  that  lumbering  has  been  done  so  wastefully  and 
badly  that  it  has  been  necessary,  merely  as  education,  to 
go  to  the  other  extreme.  We've  insisted  on  chopping  and 
piling  the  tops  like  cordwood,  and  cutting  up  the  down  trunks 
of  trees,  and  generally  'parking'  the  forest  simply  to  get  the 
idea  into  people's  heads.  They'd  never  thought  of  such 
things  before.  I  don't  believe  it's  necessary  to  go  to  such 
extremes,  practically;  and  I  don't  believe  the  Service  will 
demand  it  when  it  comes  actually  to  do  business." 

Elliott  and  Bob  looked  at  each  other  a  little  astonished. 

"Mind  you,  I  don't  talk  this  way  outside;  and  I  don't 
want  you  to  do  so,"  pursued  Thorne.  "But  when  you  come 
right  down  to  it,  all  that's  necessary  is  to  prevent  fire  from 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          445 

running  —  and,  of  course,  to  leave  a  few  seed-trees.  Yor 
can  keep  fire  from  running  just  as  well  by  piling  the  debris 
in  isolated  heaps,  as  by  chopping  it  up  and  stacking  it.  And 
it's  a  lot  cheaper." 

He  leaned  forward. 

"That's  coming,"  he  continued.  "Now  you,  Elliott,  have 
had  as  thorough  a  theoretical  education  as  the  schools  can 
give  you ;  and  you,  Orde,  have  had  a  lot  of  practical  experi- 
ence in  logging.  You  ought  to  make  a  good  pair.  Here's 
a  map  of  the  Government  holdings  hereabouts.  What  I 
want  is  a  working  plan  for  every  forty,  together  with  a  topo- 
graphical description,  an  estimate  of  timber,  and  a  plan  for 
the  easiest  method  of  logging  it.  There's  no  hurry  about 
it;  you  can  do  it  when  nothing  else  comes  up  to  take  you 
away.  But  do  it  thoroughly,  and  to  the  best  of  your  judg- 
ment, so  I  can  file  your  reports  for  future  reference  when 
they  are  needed." 

"Where  do  you  want  us  to  begin?"  asked  Bob. 

"Welton  is  the  only  big  operator,"  Thome  pointed  out, 
"so  you'd  better  look  over  the  timber  adjoining  or  sur- 
rounded by  his.  Then  the  bas.in  and  ranges  above  the 
Power  Company  are  important.  There's  a  fine  body  of 
timber  there,  but  we  must  cut  it  with  a  more  than  usual 
attention  to  water  supplies." 

This  work  Bob  and  Elliott  found  most  congenial.  They 
would  start  early  in  the  morning,  carrying  with  them  their 
compass  on  its  Jacob's-staff,  their  chain,  their  field  notes, 
their  maps  and  their  axes.  Arrived  at  the  scene  of  opera- 
tions, they  unsaddled  and  picketed  their  horses.  Then 
commenced  a  search  for  the  "corner,"  established  nearly 
fifty  years  before  by  the  dead  and  gone  surveyor,  a  copy  of 
whose  field  notes  now  guided  them.  This  was  no  easy  mat- 
ter. The  field  notes  described  accurately  the  location,  but 
in  fifty  years  the  character  of  a  country  may  change.  Great 
trees  fall,  new  trees  grow  up,  brush  clothes  an  erstwhile 
bare  hillside,  fire  denudes  a  slope,  even  the  rocks  and  boul- 


446         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

ders  shift  their  places  under  the  coercion  of  frost  or  aval- 
anche. The  young  men  separated,  shoulder  deep  in  the 
high  brakes  and  alders  of  a  creek  bottom,  climbing  tiny 
among  great  trees  on  the  open  slope  of  a  distant  hill,  clamb- 
ering busily  among  austere  domes  and  pinnacles,  fading  in 
the  cool  green  depths  of  the  forest.  Finally  one  would 
shout  loudly.  The  other  scrambled  across. 

"Here  we  are,"  Bob  said,  pointing  to  the  trunk  of  a  huge 
yellow  pine. 

On  it  showed  a  wrinkle  in  the  bark,  only  just  appreci- 
able. 

"There's  our  line  blaze,"  said  Bob.  "Let's  see  if  we  can 
find  it  in  the  notes."  He  opened  his  book.  "'Small  creek 
three  links  wide,  course  SW,' "  he  murmured.  " '  Sugar  pine, 
48  in.  dia.,  on  line,  48  links.'  That's  not  it.  'Top  of  ridge 
34  ch.  6  1.  course  NE.'  Now  we  come  to  the  down  slope. 
Here  we  are!  'Yellow  pine  20  in.  dia.,  on  line,  50  chains.' 
Twenty  inches!  Well,  old  fellow,  you've  grown  some  since! 
Let's  see  your  compass,  Elliott." 

Having  thus  cut  the  line,  they  established  their  course 
and  went  due  north,  spying  sharply  for  the  landmarks  and 
old  blazes  as  mentioned  in  the  surveyor's  field  notes. 

When  they  had  gone  about  the  required  distance,  they 
began  to  look  for  the  corner.  After  some  search,  Elliott 
called  Bob's  attention  to  a  grown-over  blaze. 

"I  guess  this  is  our  witness  tree,"  said  he. 

Without  a  word  Bob  began  to  chop  above  and  below  the 
wrinkle  in  the  bark.  After  ten  minutes  careful  work,  he 
laid  aside  a  thick  slab  of  wood.  The  inner  surface  of  this 
was  shiny  with  pitch.  The  space  from  which  it  had  peeled 
was  also  coated  with  the  smooth  substance.  This  pitch 
had  filmed  over  the  old  blaze,  protecting  it  against  the  new 
wood  and  bark  which  had  gradually  grown  over  it.  Thus, 
although  the  original  blaze  had  been  buried  six  inches  in 
the  living  white  pine  wood,  nevertheless  the  lettering  was 
as  clear  and  sharp  as  when  it  had  been  carved  fifty  years 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          447 

before.  Furthermore,  the  same  lettering,  only  reversed  and 
in  relief,  showed  on  the  thick  slab  that  Bob  had  peeled 
away.  So  the  tree  had  preserved  the  record  in  its  heart. 

"Now  let's  see,"  said  Bob.  "This  witness  bears  S  80  W. 
Let's  find  another." 

This  proved  to  be  no  great  matter.  Sighting  the  given 
directions  from  the  two,  they  converged  on  the  corner. 
This  was  described  by  the  old  surveyor  as:  "Oak  post,  4 
in.  dia.,  set  in  pile  of  rocks,"  etc.  The  pile  of  rocks  was 
now  represented  by  scattered  stones;  and  the  oak  post  had 
long  since  rotted.  Bob,  however,  unearthed  a  fragment  on 
which  ran  a  single  grooved  mark.  It  was  like  those  made 
by  borers  in  dead  limbs.  Were  it  not  for  one  circumstance, 
the  searchers  would  not  have  been  justified  in  assuming  that 
it  was  anything  else.  But,  as  Bob  pointed  out,  the  pas- 
sageways made  by  borers  are  never  straight.  The  fact 
that  this  was  so,  established  indisputably  that  it  had  been 
made  by  the  surveyor's  steel  "scribe." 

Having  thus  located  a  corner,  it  was  an  easy  matter  to 
determine  the  position  of  a  tract  of  land.  At  first  hazy  in 
its  general  configuration  and  extent,  it  took  definition  as 
the  young  men  progressed  with  the  accurate  work  of  timber 
estimating.  Before  they  had  finished  with  it,  they  knew 
eveiy  little  hollow,  ridge,  ravine,  rock  and  tree  in  it.  Out 
of  the  whole  vast  wilderness  this  one  small  patch  had  become 
thoroughly  known. 

The  work  was  the  most  pleasant  of  any  Bob  had  ever 
undertaken.  Tt  demanded  accuracy,  good  judgment,  knowl- 
edge. It  did  not  require  feverish  haste.  The  surroundings 
were  wonderfully  beautiful;  and  if  the  men  paused  in  their 
work,  as  they  often  did,  the  spirit  of  the  woods,  which  as 
always  had  drawn  aside  from  the  engrossments  of  human 
activity,  came  closer  as  with  fluttering  of  wings.  Some- 
times, nervous  and  impatient  from  the  busy,  tiny  clatter  of 
facts  and  figures  and  guesses,  from  the  restless  shuttle- 
weaving  of  estimates  and  plans,  Bob  looked  up  suddenly 


448          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

into  a  deathless  and  eternal  peace.  Like  the  cool  green 
refreshment  of  waters  it  closed  over  him.  When  he  again 
came  to  the  surface- world  of  his  occupation,  he  was  rested 
and  slowed  down  to  a  respectable  patience. 

Elliott  was  good  company,  interested  in  the  work,  well- 
bred,  intelligent,  eager  to  do  his  share  —  an  ideal  companion. 
He  and  Bob  discussed  many  affairs  during  their  rides  to 
and  from  the  work  and  during  the  interims  of  rest.  As 
time  went  on,  and  the  tracts  to  be  estimated  and  plotted 
became  more  distant,  they  no  longer  attempted  to  return 
at  night  to  Headquarters,  Small  meadows  offered  them 
resting  places  for  the  day  or  the  week.  They  became  expert 
in  taking  care  of  themselves  so  expeditiously  that  the  pro- 
cess stole  little  time  from  their  labours.  On  Saturday 
afternoon  they  rode  to  headquarters  to  report,  and  to  spend 
Sunday. 


IX 

TOWARD  the  end  of  the  season  they  had  worked 
past  the.  main  ridge  on  which  were  situated  Wei- 
ton's  operations  and  the  Service  Headquarters. 
Several  deep  canons  and  rocky  peaks,  by  Thome's  instruc- 
tions, they  skipped  over  as  only  remotely  available  as  a 
timber  supply.  This  brought  them  to  the  ample  circle  of 
a  basin,  well-timbered,  wide,  containing  an  unusual  acre- 
age of  gently  sloping  or  rolling  table-land.  Behind  this 
rose  the  spurs  of  the  Range.  A  half-hundred  streams  here 
had  their  origin.  These  converged  finally  in  the  Forks, 
which,  leaping  and  plunging  steadily  downward  from  a 
height  of  over  six  thousand  feet,  was  trapped  and  used  again 
and  again  to  turn  the  armatures  of  Baker's  dynamos.  After 
serving  this  purpose  at  six  power  houses  strung  down  the 
contour  line  of  its  descent,  the  water  was  deflected  into  wide, 
deep  ditches  which  forked  and  forked  again  until  a  whole 
plains  province  was  rendered  fertile  and  productive  by  irri- 
gation. 

All  this  California  John,  who  rode  over  to  show  them  some 
corners,  explained  to  them.  They  sat  on  the  rim  of  the 
basin  overlooking  it  as  it  lay  below  them  like  a  green  cup. 

"You  can  see  the  whole  of  her  from  here,"  said  California 
John,  "and  that's  why  we  use  this  for  fire  lookout.  It 
saves  a  heap  of  riding,  for  let  me  tell  you  it's  a  long  ways 
down  this  bluff.  But  you  bet  we  keep  a  close  watch  on  this 
Basin.  It's  the  most  valuable,  as  a  watershed,  of  any  we've 
got.  This  is  about  the  only  country  we've  managed  to 
throw  a  fire-break  around  yet.  It  took  a  lot  of  time  to  do 
it,  but  it's  worth  while." 

449 


450          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"This  is  where  the  Power  Company  gets  its  power," 
remarked  Bob. 

"Yes,"  replied  California  John,  drily.  "Which  same 
company  is  putting  up  the  fight  of  its  life  in  Congress  to 
keep  from  payin'  anything  at  all  for  what  it  gets." 

They  gave  themselves  to  the  task  of  descending  into  the 
Basin  by  a  steep  and  rough  trail.  At  the  end  of  an  hour,  their 
horses  stepped  from  the  side  of  the  hill  to  a  broad,  pleasant 
flat  on  which  the  tall  trees  grew  larger  than  any  Bob  had 
seen  on  the  ridge. 

"What  magnificent  timber!"  he  cried.  "How  does  it 
happen  this  wasn't  taken  up  long  ago?" 

"Well,"  said  California  John,  "a  good  share  of  it  is 
claimed  by  the  Power  Company;  and  unless  you  come  up  the 
way  we  did,  you  don't  see  it.  From  below,  all  this  looks 
like  part  of  the  bald  ridge.  Even  if  a  cruiser  in  the  old 
days  happened  to  look  down  on  this,  he  wouldn't  realize 
how  good  it  was  unless  he  came  down  to  it  —  it's  all  just 
trees  from  above.  And  in  those  days  there  were  lots  of  trees 
easier  to  come  at." 

"It's  great  timber!"  repeated  Bob.  "That  'sugar's7 
eight  feet  through  if  it's  an  inch!" 

"Nearer  nine,"  said  California  John. 

"It'll  be  some  years'  work  to  estimate  and  plot  all  this," 
mused  Bob.  "If  it's  so  important  a  watershed,  what  do 
they  want  it  plotted  for?  They'll  never  want  to  cut  it." 

"There  ain't  so  much  of  it  left,  as  you'll  see  when  you  look 
at  your  map.  The  Power  Company  owns  most.  Anyway, 
government  cutting  won't  hurt  the  watershed,"  stated  Cali- 
fornia John. 

As  they  rode  forward  through  the  trees,  a  half-dozen  deer 
jumped  startled  from  a  clump  of  low  brush  and  sped  away. 

"  That's  more  deer  than  I've  seen  in  a  bunch  since  I  left 
Michigan,"  observed  Bob. 

"Nobody  ever  gets  into  this  place,"  explained  California 
John.  "There  ain't  been  a  fire  here  in  years,  and  we  don't 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  451 

none  of  us  have  any  reason  to  ride  down.  She's  too  hard 
to  get  out  of,  and  we  can  see  her  too  well  from  the  lookout. 
The  rest  of  the  country  feels  pretty  much  the  same  way." 

"How  about  sheep?"  inquired  Elliott. 

"They  got  to  get  in  over  some  trail,  if  they  get  in  at  all,1' 
California  John  pointed  out,  "and  we  can  circle  the  Basin." 

By  now  they  were  riding  over  a  bed  of  springy  pine  needles 
through  a  magnificent  open  forest.  Undergrowth  abso- 
lutely lacked;  even  the  soft  green  of  the  bear  clover  was 
absent.  The  straight  columns  of  the  trees  rose  grandly 
from  a  swept  floor.  Only  where  tiny  streams  trickled  and 
sang  through  rocks  and  shallow  courses,  grew  ferns  and  the 
huge  leaves  of  the  saxifrage.  In  this  temple-like  austerity 
dwelt  a  silence  unusual  to  the  Sierra  forests.  The  lack  of 
undergrowth  and  younger  trees  implied  a  scarcity  of  insects; 
and  this  condition  meant  an  equal  scarcity  of  birds.  Only 
the  creepers  and  the  great  pileated  woodpeckers  seemed  to 
inhabit  these  truly  cloistral  shades.  The  breeze  passed 
through  branches  too  elevated  to  permit  its  whisperings  to 
be  heard.  The  very  sound  of  the  horses'  hoofs  was  muf- 
fled in  the  thick  carpet  of  pine  needles. 

Califorina  John  led  them  sharp  to  the  right,  however, 
and  in  a  few  moments  they  emerged  to  cheerful  sunlight, 
alders,  young  pines  among  the  old,  a  leaping  flashing  stream 
of  some  size,  and  multitudes  of  birds,  squirrels,  insects  and 
butterflies. 

"There's  a  meadow,  and  a  good  camping  place  just 
up-stream,"  said  he.  "  It's  easy  riding.  You'd  better  spread 
your  blankets  there.  Now,  here's  the  corner  to  34.  We 
reestablished  it  four  years  ago,  so  as  to  have  something 
to  go  by  in  this  country.  You  can  find  your  way  about  from 
there.  That  bold  cliff  of  rock  you  see  just  through  the  trees 
there  you  can  climb.  From  the  top  you  can  make  out  the 
lookout.  If  you're  wanted  at  headquarters  we'll  hang  out 
a  signal.  That  will  save  a  hard  ride  down.  Let's  see; 
how  long  you  got  grub  for?" 


452          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"I  guess  there's  enough  to  last  us  ten  days  or  so,"  replied 
Elliott. 

"Well,  if  you  keep  down  this  stream  until  you  strike  a 
big  bald  slide  rock,  you'll  run  into  an  old  trail  that  takes 
you  to  the  Flats.  It's  pretty  old,  and  it  ain't  blazed,  but 
you  can  make  it  out  if  you'll  sort  of  keep  track  of  the  coun- 
try. It  ain't  been  used  for  years." 

California  John,  anxious  to  make  a  start  at  the  hard 
climb,  now  said  good-bye  and  started  back.  Bob  and  Elli- 
ott, their  pack  horse  following,  rode  up  the  flat  through 
which  ran  the  river.  They  soon  found  the  meadow.  It 
proved  to  be  a  beautiful  spot,  surrounded  by  cedars,  warm 
with  the  sun,  bright  with  colour,  alive  with  birds.  A  fringe 
of  azaleas,  cottonwoods  and  quaking  asps  screened  it  com- 
pletely from  all  that  lay  outside  its  charmed  circle.  A 
cheerful  blue  sky  spread  its  canopy  overhead.  Here  Bob 
and  Elliott  turned  loose  their  horses  and  made  their  camp. 
After  lunch  they  lay  on  their  backs  and  smoked.  Through 
a  notch  in  the  trees  showed  a  very  white  mountain  against 
a  very  blue  sky.  The  sun  warmed  them  gratefully.  Birds 
sang.  Squirrels  scampered.  Their  horses  stood  dozing, 
ears  and  head  down-looped,  eyes  half -closed,  one  hind 
leg  tucked  up. 

"Confound  it!"  cried  Elliott  suddenly,  following  his 
unspoken  thought.  "I  feel  like  a  bad  little  boy  stealing 
jam!  By  night  I'll  be  scared.  If  those  woods  over  behind 
that  screen  aren't  full  of  large,  dignified  gods  that  disap- 
prove of  me  being  so  cheerful  and  contented  and  light-minded 
and  frivolous,  I  miss  my  guess!" 

"Same  here!"  said  Bob  with,  a  short  laugh.  "Let's  get 
busy." 

They  started  out  that  very  afternoon  from  the  corner 
California  John  had  showed  them.  It  took  all  that  day 
and  most  of  the  following  to  define  and  blaze  the  bounda- 
ries of  the  first  tract  they  intended  to  estimate.  In  the 
accomplishment  of  this  they  found  nothing  out  of  the  ordi- 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          453 

nary;  but  when  they  began  to  move  forward  across  the 
forty,  they  were  soon  brought  to  a  halt  by  the  unexpected. 

"Look  here!"  Bob  shouted  to  his  companion;  " here's 
a  brand  new  corner  away  off  the  line." 

Elliott  came  over.  Bob  showed  him  a  stake  set  neatly 
in  a  pile  of  rocks. 

"It's  not  a  very  old  one,  either,"  said  Bob.  "Now  what 
do  you  make  of  that?" 

Elliott  had  been  spying  about  him. 

"There's  another  just  like  it  over  on  the  hill,"  said  he. 
"I  should  call  it  the  stakes  of  a  mining  claim.  There  ought 
to  be  a  notice  somewhere." 

They  looked  about  and  soon  came  across  the  notice  hi 
question.  It  was  made  out  in  the  name  of  a  man  neither 
Bob  nor  Elliott  had  ever  heard  of  before. 

"I  suppose  that's  his  ledge,"  remarked  Elliott,  kicking 
a  little  outcrop,  "but  it  looks  like  mighty  slim  mining  to 
me!" 

They  proceeded  with  their  estimating.  In  due  time  they 
came  upon  another  mining  claim,  and  then  a  third. 

"This  is  getting  funny!"  remarked  Elliott.  "Looks  as 
though  somebody  expected  to  make  a  strike  for  fair.  More 
timber  than  mineral  here,  I  should  say." 

"That's  it!"  cried  Bob,  slapping  his  leg;  "I'd  just  about 
forgotten!  This  must  be  what  Baker  was  talking  about 
one  evening  over  at  camp.  He  had  some  scheme  for  getting 
some  timber  and  water  rights  somewhere  under  the  min- 
eral act.  I  didn't  pay  so  very  much  attention  to  it  at  the 
time,  and  it  had  slipped  my  mind.  But  this  must  be  it!" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  any  man  was  going  to  take 
this  beautiful  timber  away  from  us  on  that  kind  of  a  tech- 
nicality?" 

"I  believe  that's  just  what  he  did." 

Two  days  later  Elliott  straightened  his  back  after  a  squint 
through  the  compass  sights  to  exclaim: 

"I  wish  we  had  a  dog!" 


454         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Why?"  laughed  Bob.    " Can't  you  eat  your  share?" 

"I've  a  feeling  that  somebody's  hanging  around  these 
woods;  I've  had  it  ever  since  we  got  here.  And  just  now 
while  I  was  looking  through  the  sights  I  thought  I  saw 
something  —  you  know  how  the  sights  will  concentrate  your 
gaze." 

"It's  these  big  woods,"  said  Bob;  "I've  had  the  same 
hunch  before.  Besides,  you  can  easily  look  for  tracks  along 
your  line  of  sights." 

They  did  so,  but  found  nothing. 

"But  among  these  rocks  a  man  needn't  leave  any  tracks 
if  he  didn't  want  to,"  Elliott  pointed  out. 

"The  bogy-man's  after  you,"  said  Bob. 

Elliott  laughed.  Nevertheless,  as  the  work  progressed, 
from  time  to  time  he  would  freeze  to  an  attitude  of  listening. 

"It's  like  feeling  that  there's  somebody  else  in  a  dark  room 
with  you,"  he  told  Bob. 

"You'll  end  by  giving  me  the  willy-willies,  too,"  com- 
plained Bob.  "I'm  beginning  to  feel  the  same  way.  Quit 
it!" 

By  the  end  of  the  week  it  became  necessary  to  go  to  town 
after  more  supplies.  Bob  volunteered.  He  saddled  his 
riding  horse  and  the  pack  animal,  and  set  forth.  Follow- 
ing California  John's  directions  he  traced  the  length  of  the 
river  through  the  basin  to  the  bald  rock  where  the  old  trail 
was  said  to  begin.  Here  he  anticipated  some  difficulty  in 
picking  up  the  trail,  and  more  in  following  it.  To  his  sur- 
prise he  ran  immediately  into  a  well-defined  path. 

"Why,  this  is  as  plain  as  a  strip  of  carpet!"  muttered 
Bob  to  himself.  "If  this  is  his  idea  of  a  dim  trail,  I'd  like  to 
see  a  good  one!" 

He  had  not  ridden  far,  however,  before,  in  crossing  a 
tiny  trickle  of  water,  he  could  not  fail  to  notice  a  clear-cut, 
recent  hoof  print.  The  mark  was  that  of  a  barefoot  horse. 
Bob  stared  at  it. 

"Now  if  I  were  real  good,"  he  reflected,  "like  old  what- 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          455 

you-may-call-him  —  the  Arabian  Sherlock  Holmes  —  I'd 
be  able  to  tell  whether  this  horse  was  loose  and  climbing 
for  pasture,  or  carrying  a  rider,  and  if  so,  whether  the  rider 
had  ever  had  his  teeth  filled.  There's  been  a  lot  of  travel 
on  this  trail,  anyway.  I  wonder  where  it  all  went  to?" 
He  paused  irresolutely.  "It  isn't  more  than  two  jumps  back 
to  the  rock,"  he  decided;  "I'll  just  find  out  what  direction 
they  take  anyway." 

Accordingly  he  retraced  his  steps  to  the  bald  rock,  and 
commenced  an  examination  of  its  circumference  to  deter- 
mine where  the  trail  led  away.  He  found  no  such  exit. 
Save  from  the  direction  of  his  own  camp  the  way  was  closed 
either  by  precipitous  sides  or  dense  brush.  The  conclu- 
sion was  unavoidable  that  those  who  had  travelled  the  trail, 
had  either  ended  their  journeys  at  the  bald  rock  or  actually 
taken  to  the  bed  of  the  river. 

"Well,"  concluded  Bob,  "I'm  enough  of  a  sleuth  to  see 
that  that  barefoot  horse  had  a  rider  and  wasn't  just  look- 
ing pasture.  No  animal  in  its  senses  would  hike  uphill 
and  then  hike  down  again,  or  wade  belly  deep  up  a  stream." 

Puzzling  over  this  mystery,  he  again  took  his  way  down 
the  trail.  He  found  it  easy  to  follow,  for  it  had  been  con- 
siderably travelled.  In  some  places  the  brush  had  been 
cut  back  to  open  easier  passage.  Examining  these  cuttings, 
Bob  found  their  raw  ends  only  slightly  weathered.  All 
this  might  have  been  done  by  the  men  who  had  staked  the 
mineral  claims,  to  be  sure,  but  even  then  Bob  found  it  dif- 
ficult to  reconcile  all  the  facts.  In  the  first  place,  the  trail 
had  indubitably  been  much  used  since  the  time  the  claims 
were  staked.  In  the  second  place,  if  the  prospector  had 
wished  to  conceal  anything,  it  should  have  been  the  fact 
of  his  going  to  the  Basin  at  all,  not  his  whereabouts  after 
arriving  there.  In  other  words,  if  desiring  to  keep  his  pres- 
ence secret,  he  would  have  blinded  the  beginning  of  the 
trail  rather  than  its  end. 

He  kept  a  sharp  lookout.     Near  the  entrance  to  the  canon 


456          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

he  managed  to  discover  another  clear  print  of  the  barefoot 
horse,  but  headed  the  other  way.  Clearly  the  rider  had 
returned.  Bob  had  hunted  deer  enough  to  recognize  that 
the  track  had  been  made  within  the  last  twenty-four  hours. 

At  Sycamore  Flats  he  was  treated  to  further  surprises. 
Martin,  of  whom  he  bought  his  supplies,  at  first  greeted 
him  with  customary  joviality. 

"Hullo!  hullo!"  he  cried;  "quite  a  stranger!  Out  in 
camp,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  Bob,  "they've  got  us  working  for  a  change." 

"Where  you  located?" 

"We're  estimating  timber  up  in  the  Basin,"  replied  Bob. 

The  silence  that  followed  was  so  intense  that  Bob  looked 
up  from  the  bag  he  was  tying.  He  met  Martin's  eyes  fixed 
on  him. 

"The  Basin,"  repeated  Martin  slowly,  at  last.  "Since 
when?" 

^  About  ten  days." 

41  We!    Who's  we?" 

'"Elliott  and  I,"  answered  Bob,  surprised.     "Why?" 

Martin's  gaze  shifted.  He  plainly  hesitated  for  a  next 
remark. 

"How'd  you  Like  it  there?"  he  asked  lamely,  at  length. 
"I  thought  none  of  you  fellows  ever  went  there." 

"Fine  timber,"  answered  Bob,  cheerfully.  "We  don't 
usually.  Somebody  does  though.  California  John  told 
me  that  trail  was  old  and  out  of  use;  but  it's  been  used 
a  lot.  WTho  gets  up  there?" 

"The  boys  drive  in  some  cattle  occasionally,"  replied 
Martin,  with  an  effort. 

Bob  stared  in  surprise.  He  knew  this  was  not  so,  and 
started  to  speak,  but  thought  better  of  it.  After  he  had 
left  the  store,  he  looked  back.  Martin  was  gazing  after 
him,  a  frown  between  his  brows. 

Before  he  left  town  a  half-dozen  of  the  mountain  men  had 
asked  him,  with  an  obvious  attempt  to  make  the  question 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          457 

casual,  how  he  liked  the  Basin,  how  long  he  thought  his 
work  would  keep  him  there.  Each,  as  he  turned  away, 
followed  him  with  that  long,  speculative,  brooding  look. 
Always,  heretofore,  his  relations  with  these  mountain  people 
had  been  easy,  sympathetic  and  cordial.  Now  all  at  once, 
without  reason,  they  held  him  at  arm's  length  and  regarded 
him  with  suspicious  if  not  hostile  eyes. 

Puzzling  over  this  he  rode  back  up  the  road  past  the 
Power  House.  Thence  issued  Oldham  to  hail  him.  He 
pulled  up. 

"I  hear  you're  estimating  the  timber  in  the  Basin,"  said 
the  gray  man,  with  more  appearance  of  disturbance  than 
Bob  had  ever  seen  him  display. 

Bob  acknowledged  the  accuracy  of  his  statement. 

"Indeed!"  said  Oldham,  pulling -at  bis  clipped  mous- 
tache, and  after  a  little,  "Indeed!"  he  repeated. 

So  the  news  had  run  ahead  of  him.  Bob  began  to  think 
the  news  important,  but  for  some  reason  at  which  he  could 
not  as  yec  guess.  This  conviction  was  strengthened  by 
the  fact  that  from  the  two  mountain  cabins  he  passed  on 
his  way  to  the  beginning  of  the  trail,  men  lounged  out  to 
talk  with  him,  and  in  each  case  the  question,  craftily  ren- 
dered casual,  was  put  to  him  as  to  his  business  in  the  Basin. 
Before  one  of  these  cabins  stood  a  sweating  horse. 

"Look  here,"  he  demanded  of  the  Carrolls,  "why  all 
this  interest  about  our  being  in  the  Basin?  Every  man- 
jack  asks  me.  What's  the  point?" 

Old  man  Carroll  stroked  his  long  beard. 

"Do  they  so?"  he  drawled  comfortably.  "Well,  I 
reckon  little  things  make  news,  as  they  say,  when  you're  in  a 
wild  country.  They  ain't  been  no  work  done  in  the  Basin 
for  so  long  that  we're  all  just  nat'rally  interested;  that's 
all." 

He  looked  Bob  tranquilly  in  the  eye  with  the  limpid  gaze 
of  innocence  before  which  Bob's  scrutiny  fell  abashed.  For 
a  while  his  suspicions  of  anything  unusual  were  almost 


458          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

lulled;  the  countryside  was  proverbially  curious  of  any- 
thing out  of  the  course  of  events.  Then,  from  a  point 
midway  up  the  steep  trail,  he  just  happened  to  look  back, 
and  just  happened  through  an  extraordinary  combination 
of  openings  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  rider  on  the  trail.  The 
man  was  far  below.  Bob  watched  a  long  time,  his  eye  fixed 
on  another  opening.  Nothing  appeared.  From  some- 
where in  the  canon  a  coyote  shrilled.  Another  answered 
him  from  up  the  mountain.  A  moment  later  Bob  again 
saw  the  rider  through  the  same  opening  as  before,  but  this 
time  descending. 

"A  signal !"  he  exclaimed,  in  reference  to  the  coyote 
howls. 

On  arriving  at  the  bare  rock,  he  dismounted  and  hastily 
looked  it  over  on  all  sides.  Near  the  stream  it  had  been 
splashed.  A  tiny  eddy  out  of  reach  of  the  current  still  held 
mud  in  suspension. 


ON  his  arrival  at  camp  he  found  Elliott  much  inter- 
ested over  discoveries  of  his  own.  It  seemed  that 
the  Easterner  had  spent  the  afternoon  fishing.  At 
one  point,  happening  to  look  up,  he  caught  sight  of  a  man 
surveying  him  intently  from  a  thicket.  As  he  stared,  the 
man  drew  back  and  disappeared. 

"I  couldn't  see  him  very  plainly,"  said  Elliott.  "He  had 
a  beard  and  an  old  gray  hat;  but  that  doesn't  mean  much 
of  course.  When  I  got  my  nerve  up,  and  had  concluded 
to  investigate,  I  could  hardly  find  a  trace  of  him.  He  must 
wear  moccasins,  I  think." 

In  return  Bob  detailed  his  own  experiences.  The  two 
could  make  nothing  of  it  all. 

"If  we  were  down  South  I'd  say  'moonshiners,'"  said 
Elliott,  "but  the  beautiful  objection  to  that  is,  that  we 
aren't!" 

"It's  some  mystery  to  do  with  the  Basin,"  said  Bob, 
"  and  the  whole  countryside  is  '  on'  —  except  our  boys. 
I  don't  believe  California  John  knew  a  thing  about  it." 

"Didn't  act  so.  Question:  what  possibly  could  every- 
body in  the  mountains  be  interested  in  that  the  Forest  Ser- 
vice would  object  to?" 

"Lots  of  things,"  replied  Bob  promptly,  "but  I  don't 
believe  the  mountains  are  unfriendly  to  us  —  as  a  unit.  I 
know  Martin  isn't,  and  he  was  the  first  one  I  noticed  as 
particularly  worried." 

Elliott  reflected. 

"If  he's  so  friendly,  perhaps  he  was  a  little  uneasy  about 
us"  he  suggested  at  length.  "If  somebody  doesn't  want 

459 


460          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

the  Forest  Service  in  this  neck  of  the  woods  —  if  that  some- 
body is  relying  on  the  fact  that  we  never  come  down  in  here 
farther  than  the  lookout,  why  then  it  may  not  be  very 
healthy  here." 

"Hadn't  thought  of  that,"  said  Bob.  "That  looks  cheer- 
ful. But  what's  the  point?  Nine- tenths  of  this  timber  is 
private  property  anyway.  There's  certainly  no  trespass  — 
sheep,  timber  or  otherwise  —  on  the  government  land. 
What  in  blazes  is  the  point?" 

"Give  it  up;  but  we'd  better  wear  our  guns." 

Bob  laughed. 

"  I'd  have  a  healthy  show  against  a  man  who  really  wanted 
to  get  me  with  a  gun.  Presumably  he'd  be  an  expert,  or 
he  wouldn't  be  sent." 

It  was  agreed,  however,  "  in  view  of  the  unsettled  state  of 
the  country,"  as  Bob  gravely  characterized  the  situation, 
that  the  young  men  should  stick  together  in  their 
work. 

"There's  no  use  taking  chances,  of  course,"  Bob  summed 
up,  "but  there's  no  sense  in  making  fools  of  ourselves, 
either.  Lord  love  you,  I  don't  mind  being  haunted!  They 
can  spring  as  many  mysterious  apparitions  as  they  please, 
so  long  as  said  apparitions  don't  take  to  heaving  bricks. 
We'd  look  sweet  and  lovely,  wouldn't  we,  to  go  back  to 
headquarters  and  tell  them  we'd  decided  to  come  in  because 
a  bad  man  with  whiskers  who'd  never  been  introduced 
came  and  looked  at  us  out  of  the  trees." 

In  pursuance  of  this  determination  Bob  and  Elliott  com- 
bined forces  closely  in  their  next  day's  work.  That  this 
was  not  a  useless  precaution  early  became  apparent.  As, 
momentarily  separated  by  a  few  feet,  they  passed  a  dense 
thicket,  Bob  was  startled  by  a  low  whistle.  He  looked  up. 
Within  fifty  feet  of  him,  but  so  far  in  the  shadow  as  to  be 
indistinguishable,  a  man  peered  at  him.  As  he  caught 
Bob's  eyes  he  made  a  violent  gesture  whose  purport  Bob 
could  not  guess. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          461 

"Did  you  whistle?"  asked  Elliott  at  his  elbow.  "What's 
up?" 

Bob  pointed;  but  the  man  had  vanished.  Where  he 
had  stood  they  found  the  print  of  moccasins. 

Thrice  during  the  day  they  were  interrupted  by  this 
mysterious  presence.  On  each  occasion  Bob  saw  him  first. 
Always  he  gestured,  but  whether  in  warning  or  threat  Bob 
could  not  tell.  Each  time  he  vanished  as  though  the  earth 
had  swallowed  him  the  instant  Elliott  turned  at  Bob's  excla- 
mation. 

"I  believe  he's  crazy!"  exclaimed  Elliott  impatiently. 

"I'd  think  so,  too,"  replied  Bob,  "if  it  weren't  for  the  way 
everybody  acted  down  below.  Do  you  suppose  he's  try- 
ing to  warn  us  out  or  scare  us  off?" 

"I'm  going  to  take  a  crack  at  him  next  time  he  shows  up," 
threatened  Elliott.  "  I'm  getting  sick  of  this." 

"No,  you  can't  do  that,"  warned  Bob. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  him  so  anyway." 

"That's  all  right." 

For  this  experiment  they  had  not  long  to  await  the  oppor- 
tunity. 

"Hi,  there!"  shouted  Elliott  at  the  place  from  which  the 
mysterious  apparition  had  disappeared;  "I  give  you  fair 
warning!  Step  out  and  declare  yourself  peaceably  or  accept 
the  consequences.  If  you  show  yourself  again  after  five 
minutes  are  up,  I'll  open  fire!" 

The  empty  forest  gave  no  sign.  For  an  hour  nothing 
happened.  Then  all  at  once,  when  Elliott  was  entangled 
in  a  tiny  thicket  close  at  Bob's  elbow,  the  latter  was  startled 
by  the  appearance  of  the  man  not  ten  feet  away.  He  leaped 
apparently  from  below  a  rounded  rock,  and  now  stood  in  full 
view  of  its  crown.  Bob  had  time  only  to  catch  cognizance 
of  a  blue  eye  and  a  long  beard,  to  realize  that  the  man  was 
saying  something  rapidly  and  in  a  low  voice,  when  Elliott's 
six-shooter  exploded  so  near  his  ear  as  almost  to  deafen 
him.  At  the  report  the  man  toppled  backward  off  the  rock. 


462          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

" Good  Lord!    You've  killed  him!"  cried  Bob. 

"I  did  not;  I  fired  straight  up  I"  panted  Elliott,  dashing 
past  him.  "  Quick !  We'll  catch  him  I" 

But  catch  him  nor  see  him  again  they  did  not. 

Ten  minutes  later  while  working  in  a  wide  open  stretch 
of  forest,  they  were  brought  to  a  stand  by  the  report  of  a 
rifle.  At  the  same  instant  the  shock  of  a  bullet  threw  a 
shower  of  dead  pine  needles  and  humus  over  Elliott. 
Another  and  another  followed,  until  six  had  thudded  into 
the  soft  earth  at  the  young  man's  feet.  He  stood  quite 
motionless,  and  though  he  went  a  little  pale,  his  coolness 
did  not  desert  him.  After  the  sixth  shot  silence  fell  abruptly. 
Elliott  stood  still  for  some  moments,  then  moved  forward 
a  single  step. 

"  Guess  the  show's  over,"  he  remarked  with  a  curt  laugh. 
He  stooped  to  examine  the  excavation  the  bullets  had  made. 
"  Quaint  cuss,"  he  remarked  a  trifle  bitterly.  "  Just  wanted 
to  show  me  how  easy  it  would  be.  All  right,  my  friend, 
I'm  obliged  to  you.  We'll  quit  the  gun  racket;  but  next 
time  you  show  your  pretty  face  I'll  give  you  a  run  for  it." 

"And  get  shot,"  interposed  Bob. 

"If  it's  shoot,  we'll  get  ours  any  minute.  Say,"  went  on 
the  young  man  in  absolutely  conversational  tones,  "don't 
you  see  I'm  mad?" 

Bob  looked  and  saw. 

"  May  be  you  think  shooting  at  me  is  one  of  my  little 
niece's  favourite  summer-day  stunts?"  went  on  Elliott. 
"Well,  uncle  isn't  used  to  it  yet." 

His  tone  was  quiet,  but  his  eyes  burned  and  the  muscles 
around  his  mouth  were  white. 

"He's  probably  crazy,  and  he's  armed,"  Bob  pointed 
out.  "For  heaven's  sake,  go  slow." 

"I'm  going  to  paddle  his  pantalettes,  if  he  commands 
a  gatling,"  stated  Elliott. 

But  the  mysterious  visitor  appeared  no  more  that  after- 
noon, and  Elliott's  resolutions  had  time  to  settle. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          463 

That  night  the  young  men  turned  in  rather  earlier  than 
usual,  as  they  were  very  tired.  Bob  immediately  dropped 
into  a  black  sleep.  So  deep  was  his  slumber  that  it  seemed 
to  him  he  had  just  dropped  off,  when  he  was  awakened  by 
a  cool  hand  placed  across  his  forehead.  He  opened  his  eyes 
quietly,  without  alarm,  to  look  full  into  the  waning  moon 
sailing  high  above.  His  first  drowsy  motion  was  one  of 
astonishment,  for  the  luminary  had  not  arisen  when  he 
had  turned  in.  The  camp  fire  had  fallen  to  a  few  faintly 
glowing  coals.  These  perceptions  came  to  him  so  gently 
that  he  would  probably  have  dropped  asleep  again  had  not 
the  touch  on  his  forehead  been  repeated.  Then  be  started 
broad  awake  to  find  himself  staring  at  a  silhouetted  man 
leaning  over  him. 

With  a  gesture  of  caution,  the  stranger  motioned  him  to 
arise.  Bob  obeyed  mechanically.  The  man  bent  toward 
him. 

;'Put  on  your  pants  and  sweater  and  come  along,"  he 
whispered  guardedly. 

Bob  peered  at  him  through  the  moonlight  and  recognized, 
vaguely,  the  man  who  had  been  so  mysteriously  pursuing 
them  all  day.  He  drew  back. 

"For  the  Lord's  sake  do  what  I  tell  you!"  whispered 
the  man.  "Here!" 

His  hand  sought  the  shadow  of  his  side,  and  instantly 
gleamed  with  a  weapon.  Bob  started  back;  but  the  man 
was  holding  the  revolver's  butt  to  him. 

"Now  come  on!"  besought  the  stranger  with  a  strange 
note  of  pleading.  "Don't  wake  your  pardner!" 

Yielding,  with  a  pleasant  thrill,  to  the  adventure  of  the 
situation,  and  it  must  be  confessed,  to  a  strong  curiosity, 
Bob  hastily  assumed  his  outer  clothing.  Then,  with  the 
muzzle  of  the  revolver,  he  motioned  the  stranger  to  proceed. 

Stepping  cautiously  they  gained  the  open  forest  beyond 
the  screen  of  brush.  Here  the  man  led  the  way  more  rap- 
idly. Bob  followed  close  at  his  heels.  They  threaded  the 


464  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

forest  aisles  without  hesitation,  crossed  a  deep  ravine  where 
the  man  paused  to  drink,  and  began  to  clamber  the  pre- 
cipitous and  rocky  sides  of  Baldy. 

''That'll  do  for  that!"  growled  Bob  suddenly. 

The  man  looked  around  as  though  for  information. 

"  You  needn't  go  so  fast.  Keep  about  three  feet  in  front 
of  me.  And  when  we  strike  your  gang,  you  keep  close  to 
me.  Sabe?" 

"I'm  alone,"  expostulated  the  man. 

Nevertheless  he  slackened  pace. 

After  five  minutes'  climb  they  entered  a  narrow  ravine 
gashed  almost  perpendicularly  in  the  side  of  the  mountain. 
At  this  point,  however,  it  flattened  for  perhaps  fifty  paces, 
so  that  there  existed  a  tiny  foothold.  It  was  concealed 
from  every  point,  and  nevertheless,  directly  to  the  west, 
Bob,  pausing  for  breath,  looked  out  over  California  slum- 
bering in  the  moon.  On  this  ledge  flowed  a  tiny  stream, 
and  over  it  grew  a  score  of  cedar  and  fir  trees.  A  fire 
smouldered  near  an  open  camp.  On  this  the  man  tossed 
a  handful  of  pitch  pine.  Immediately  the  flames  started 
up. 

"Here  we  are!"  he  remarked  aloud. 

"Yes,  I  see  we  are,"  replied  Bob,  looking  suspiciously 
about  him,  "but  what  does  all  this  mean?" 

"I  couldn't  get  to  talk  with  you  no  other  way,  could  I?" 
said  the  man  in  tones  of  complaint;  u  I  sure  tried  hard  enough  I 
But  you  and  your  pardner  stick  closer  than  brothers." 

"If  you  wanted  to  speak  to  me,  why  didn't  you  say  so?" 
demanded  Bob,  his  temper  rising. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  who  your  pardner  is,  or  whether 
he's  reliable,  nor  nothin'.  A  man  can't  be  too  careful. 
I  thought  mebbe  you'd  make  a  chance  yourself,  so  I  kept 
giving  you  a  show  to.  'Course  I  didn't  want  to  be  seen  by 
him." 

"Not  seen  by  him!"  broke  in  Bob  impatiently.  "What 
in  blazes  are  you  driving  at!  Explain  yourself!" 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  465 

"  I  showed  myself  plain  only  to  you  —  except  when  he 
cut  loose  that  time  with  his  fool  six-shooter.  I  thought  he 
was  further  in  the  brush.  Why  didn't  you  make  a  chance 
to  talk?" 

"Why  should  I?"  burst  out  Bob.  "Will  you  kindly 
explain  to  me  why  I  should  make  a  chance  to  talk  to  you; 
and  why  I've  been  dragged  out  here  in  the  dead  of  night?" 

"No  call  to  get  mad,"  expostulated  the  man  in  rather 
discouraged  tones;  "I  just  thought  as  how  mebbe  you  was 
still  feeling  friendiy-like.  My  mistake.  But  I  reckon  you 
won't  be  giving  me  away  anyhow?" 

During  this  speech  he  had  slowly  produced  from  his  hip 
pocket  a  frayed  bandana  handkerchief;  as  slowly  taken  off 
his  hat  and  mopped  his  brow. 

The  removal  of  the  floppy  and  shady  old  sombrero  exposed 
to  the  mingled  rays  of  the  fire  and  the  moon  the  man's  full 
features.  Heretofore,  Bob  had  been  able  to  see  indistinctly 
only  the  meagre  facts  of  a  heavy  beard  and  clear  eyes. 

"George  Pollock  1"  he  cried,  dropping  the  revolver  and 
leaping  forward  with  both  hands  outstretched. 


XI 

POLLOCK  took  his  hands,  but  stared  at  him  puzzled. 
"  Surely  1"    he   said   at   last.     His   clear   blue   eyes 
slowly  widened  and  became  bigger.     "  Honest  I  Didn't 
you   know    me!      Is    that    what    ailed    you,    Bobby?     I 
thought  you'd  done  clean  gone  back  on  me;  and  I  sure 
always  remembered  you  for  a  friend  1" 

"  Know  you  I "  shouted  Bob.  "  Why,  you  eternal  old  fool, 
how  should  I  know  you?" 

"You  might  have  made  a  plumb  good  guess." 

"  Oh,  sure ! "  said  Bob;  "  easiest  thing  in  the  world.  Guess 
that  the  first  shadow  you  see  in  the  woods  is  a  man  you 
thought  was  in  Mexico." 

"Didn't  you  know  I  was  here?"  demanded  Pollock 
earnestly.  "Sure  pop?" 

"How  should  I  know?"  asked  Bob  again. 

George  Pollock's  blue  eyes  smouldered  with  anger. 

"I'll  sure  tan  that  promising  nephew  of  mine!"  he  threat- 
tened;  "I've  done  sent  you  fifty  messages  by  him.  Didn't 
he  never  give  you  none  of  them?" 

"Who;  Jack?" 

"That's  the  whelp." 

Bob  laughed. 

"That's  a  joke,"  said  he;  "I've  been  bunking  with  him 
for  a  year.  Nary  message!" 

"I  told  Carroll  and  Martin  and  one  or  two  more  to  tell 
you." 

"I  guess  they're  suspicious  of  any  but  the  mountain 
people,"  said  Bob.  "They're  right.  How  could  they 
know?" 

466 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          467 

"That's  right,  they  couldn't,"  agreed  George  reluctantly. 
"  But  I  done  told  them  you  was  my  friend.  And  I  thought 
you'd  gone  back  on  me  sure." 

"Not  an  inch!"  cried  Bob,  heartily. 

George  kicked  the  logs  of  the  fire  together,  filled  the  coffee 
pot  at  the  creek,  hung  it  over  the  blaze,  and  squatted  on  his 
heels.  Bob  tossed  him  a  sack  of  tobacco  which  he  caught. 

"Thought  you  were  bound  for  Mexico,"  hazarded  Bob 
at  length. 

"I  went,"  said  Pollock  shortly,  "and  I  came  back." 

"Yes,"  said  Bob  after  a  time. 

"Homesick,"  said  Pollock;  "plain  homesick.  Wasn't 
so  bad  that-a-way  at  first.  I  was  desp'rit.  Took  a  job 
punching  with  a  cow  outfit  near  Nogales.  Worked  myself 
plumb  cut  every  day,  and  slept  hard  all  night,  and  woke 
up  in  the  morning  to  work  myself  plumb  out  again." 

He  fished  a  coal  from  the  fire  and  deftly  flipped  it  atop 
his  pipe  bowl.  After  a  dozen  deep  puffs,  he  continued: 

"Never  noticed  the  country;  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
people.  All  I  knew  was  brands  and  my  hosses.  Did  good 
enough  cow  work,  I  reckon.  For  a  fact,  it  was  mebbe 
half  a  year  before  I  begun  to  look  around.  That  country 
is  worse  than  over  Panamit  way.  There's  no  trees;  there's 
no  water;  there's  no  green  grass;  there's  no  folks;  there's  no 
nothin'i  The  mountains  look  like  they're  made  of  paper. 
After  about  a  half  year,  as  I  said,  I  took  note  of  all  this, 
but  I  didn't  care.  What  the  hell  difference  did  it  make  to 
me  what  the  country  was  like?  I  hadn't  no  theories  to 
that.  I'd  left  all  that  back  here." 

He  looked  at  Bob  questioningly,  unwilling  to  approach 
nearer  his  tragedy  unless  it  was  necessary.  Bob  nodded. 

"Then  I  begun  to  dream.  Things  come  to  me.  I'd 
see  places  plain  —  like  the  falls  at  Cascadell  —  and  smell 
things.  For  a  fact,  I  smelt  azaleas  plain  and  sweet  once; 
and  woke  up  in  the  damndest  alkali  desert  you  ever  see.  I 
thought  I'd  never  want  to  see  this  country  again;  the  far- 


468          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

ther  I  got  away,  the  more  things  I'd  forget.  You  under- 
stand." 

Again  Bob  nodded. 

"It  wasn't  that  way.  The  farther  off  I  got,  the  more  I 
remembered.  So  one  day  I  cashed  in  and  come  back." 

He  paused  for  some  time,  gazing  meditatively  on  the 
coffee  pot  bubbling  over  the  fire. 

"It's  good  to  get  back!"  he  resumed  at  last.  "It  smells 
good;  it  tastes  good.  For  a  while  that  did  me  well  enough. 
...  I  used  to  sneak  down  nights  and  look  at  my  old 
place.  ...  In  summer  I  go  back  to  Jim  and  the  cattle,  but 
it's  dangerous  these  days.  The  towerists  is  getting  thicker, 
and  you  can't  trust  everybody,  even  among  the  mountain 
folks." 

"How  many  know  you  are  back  here? "asked  Bob. 

"Mighty  few;  Jim  and  his  family  knows,  of  course, 
and  Tom  Carroll  and  Martin  and  a  few  others.  They 
ride  up  trail  to  the  flat  rock  sometimes  bringing  me  grub 
and  papers.  But  it's  plumb  lonesome.  I  can't  go  on  livin' 
this  way  forever,  and  I  can't  leave  this  yere  place.  Since 
I  have  been  living  here  it  seems  like  —  well,  I  ain't  no  call 
as  I  can  see  it  to  desert  my  wife  dead  or  alive!"  he  declared 
stoutly. 

"You  needn't  explain,"  said  Bob. 

George  Pollock  turned  to  him  with  sudden  relief. 

"  Well,  you  know  about  such  things.    What  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"There  are  only  two  courses  that  I  can  see,"  answered 
Bob,  after  reflection,  "outside  the  one  you're  following 
now.  You  can  give  yourself  up  to  the  authorities  and 
plead  guilty.  There's  a  chance  that  mitigating  circum- 
stances will  influence  the  judge  to  give  you  a  light  sentence; 
and  there's  always  a  possibility  of  a  pardon.  When  all  the 
details  are  made  known  there  ought  to  be  a  good  show  for 
getting  off  easy." 

"What's  the  other?"  demanded  Pollock,  who  had  list- 
ened with  the  closest  attention. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  469 

"The  other  is  simply  to  go  back  home." 

"They'd  arrest  r'ij? 

"Let  them,"  said  .bob.  "Plead  not  guilty,  and  take  your 
chances  on  the  trial.  Their  evidence  is  circumstantial;  you 
don't  have  to  incriminate  yourself;  I  doubt  if  a  jury  would 
agree  on  convicting  you.  Have  you  ever  talked  with  any- 
body about  —  about  that  morning?" 

"About  me  killing  Plant?"  supplied  Pollock  tranquilly. 
"No.  A  man  don't  ask  about  those  things." 

"Not  even  to  Jim?" 

"  No.     We  just  sort  of  took  all  that  for  granted." 

"Well,  that  would  be  all  right.  Then  if  they're  called 
on  the  stand,  they  can  tell  nothing.  There  are  at  least 
no  witnesses  to  the  deed  itself." 

"There's  you "  suggested  George. 

Bob  brought  up  short  in  his  train  of  reasoning. 

"But  you  won't  testify  agin  me?" 

"There's  no  reason  why  I  should  be  called.  Nobody 
even  knows  I  was  out  of  bed  at  that  time.  If  my  name 
happens  to  be  mentioned  —  which  isn't  at  all  likely  — 
Auntie  Belle  or  a  dozen  others  will  volunteer  that  I  was  in 
bed,  like  the  rest  of  the  town.  There's  no  earthly  reason 
to  connect  me  with  it." 

"But  if    you    are  called?"   persisted  the  mountaineer. 

"Then  I'll  have  to  tell  the  truth,  of  course,"  said  Bob 
soberly;  "it'll  be  under  oath,  you  know." 

Pollock  looked  at  him  strangely  askant. 

"I  didn't  much  look  to  hear  you  talk  that-a-way,"  said  he. 

"George,"  said  Bob,  "this  will  take  money.  Have  you 
any?" 

"I've  some,"  replied  the  mountaineer  sulkily. 

"How  much?" 

"A  hundred  dollars  or  so." 

"Not  enough  by  a  long  patch.  You  must  let  me  help 
you  on  this." 

"I  don't  need  no  help,"  said  Pollock. 


470          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"You  let  me  help  you  once  before,"  Bob  reminded  him 
gently,  "if  it  was  only  to  hold  a  horse." 

"By  God,  that's  right!"  burst  out  George  Pollock,  "and 
I'm  a  fooll  If  they  call  you  on  the  stand,  don't  you  lie  under 
oath  for  me!  I  don't  believe  you'd  do  it  for  yourself;  and 
that's  what  I'm  going  to  do  for  myself.  I  reckon  I'll  just 
plead  guilty!" 

" Don't  be  in  a  hurry,"  Bob  warned  him.  "It  isn't  a  mat- 
ter to  go  off  half-cock  on.  Any  man  would  have  done  what 
you  did.  I'd  have  done  it  myself.  That's  why  I  stood  by 
you.  I'm  not  sure  you  aren't  right  to  take  advantage  of 
what  the  law  can  do  for  you.  Plenty  do  just  that  with  only 
the  object  of  acquiring  other  people's  dollars.  I  don't  say 
it's  right  in  theory;  but  in  this  case  it  may  be  eternally  right 
in  practice.  Go  slow  on  deciding." 

"You're  sure  a  good  friend,  Bobby,"  said  Pollock  simply. 

"Whatever  you  decide,  don't  even  mention  my  name  to 
any  one,"  warned  Bob.  "  We  don't  want  to  get  me  connected 
with  the  case  in  any  man's  mind.  Hardly  let  on  you  remem- 
ber to  have  known  me.  Don't  overdo  it  though.  You'll 
want  a  real  good  lawyer.  I'll  find  out  about  that.  And 
the  money  —  how'll  we  fix  it?" 

George  thought  for  a  moment. 

"Fix  it  with  Jack,"  said  he  at  length.  "He'll  stay  put. 
Tell  him  not  to  tell  his  own  father.  He  won't.  He's  reli- 
able." 

"Sure?" 

"Well,  I'm  risking  my  neck  on  it." 

"I'll  simply  tell  him  the  name  of  the  lawyer,"  decided 
Bob,  "and  get  him  actual  cash." 

"I'll  pay  that  back  — the  other  I  can't,"  said  Pollock 
with  sudden  feeling.  "Here,  have  a  cup  of  coffee." 

Bob  swallowed  the  hot  coffee  gratefully.  Without  speak- 
ing further,  Pollock  arose  and  led  the  way.  When  finally 
they  had  reached  the  open  forest  above  the  camp,  the  mount- 
aineer  squeezed  Bob's  fingers  hard. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          471 

"Good-bye,"  said  the  younger  man  in  a  guarded  voice. 
"I  won't  see  you  again.  Remember,  even  at  best  it's  a 
long  wait  in  jail.  Think  it  over  before  you  decide!" 

"I'm  in  jail  here,"  replied  Pollock. 

Bob  walked  thoughtfully  to  camp.  He  found  a  fire  burn- 
ing and  Elliott  afoot. 

"Thank  God,  you're  here!"  cried  that  young  man;  "I 
was  getting  scared  for  you.  What's  up?" 

"You  are  and  I  am,"  replied  Bob.  "Couldn't  sleep,  so 
I  went  for  a  walk.  Think  that  bogy- man  of  yours  had 
got  me?" 

"I  surely  began  to." 

"Nothing  doing.     I  guess  I  can  snooze  a  little  now." 

"I  can't,"  complained  Elliott.  "You've  got  me  good  and 
waked  up,  confound  you!" 

Bob  kicked  off  his  boots,  and  without  further  disrobing 
rolled  himself  into  his  gray  blanket.  As  he  was  dropping 
asleep  two  phrases  flashed  across  his  brain.  They  were: 
"compounding  a  felony,"  and  "accessory  after  the  fact." 

"Don't  feel  much  like  a  criminal  either,"  murmured  Bob 
to  himself;  and  after  a  moment:  "Poor  devil!" 


XII 

TWO  days  later,  from  the  advantage  of  the  rock  desig- 
nated by  California  John,  Elliott  reported  the  agreed 
signal  for  their  recall.  Accordingly,  they  packed 
together  their  belongings  and  returned  to  headquarters. 

"We're  getting  short-handed,  and  several  things  have 
come  up,"  said  Thorne.  "  I  have  work  for  both  of  you." 

Having  despatched  Elliott,  Thorne  turned  to  Bob. 

"Orde,"  said  he,  "I'm  going  to  try  you  out  on  a  very  del- 
icate matter.  At  the  north  end  lives  an  old  fellow  named 
Samuels.  He  and  his  family  are  living  on  a  place  inside  the 
National  forests.  He  took  it  up  years  ago,  mainly  for  the 
timber,  but  he's  one  of  these  hard-headed  old  coons  that's 
'agin  the  Government/  on  general  principles.  He  never 
proved  up,  and  when  his  attention  was  called  to  the  fact,  he 
refused  to  do  anything.  No  reason  why  not,  except  that 
'he'd  always  lived  there  and  always  would.'  You  know  the 
kind." 

"Ought  to  —  put  in  two  years  in  the  Michigan  woods," 
said  Bob.  . 

"Well,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  gave  up  the  claim  to  all 
intents  and  purposes,  but  now  that  the  Yellow  Pine  people 
are  cutting  up  toward  him,  he's  suddenly  come  to  the  notion 
that  the  place  is  worth  while.  So  he's  patched  up  his  cabin, 
and  moved  in  his  whole  family.  We've  got  to  get  a  relin- 
quishment  out  of  him." 

"  If  he  has  no  right  there,  why  not  put  him  off  ?  "  asked  Bob. 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  this  Samuels  is  a  hard  old  citizen 
with  a  shotgun;  in  the  second  place,  he  has  some  shadow  of 
right  on  which  he  could  make  a  fight;  in  the  third  place,  the 

472 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          473 

country  up  that  way  ddesn't  care  much  for  us  anyway,  and  we 
want  to  minimize  opposition." 

"I  see,"  said  Bob. 

"  You'll  have  to  go  up  and  look  the  ground  over,  that's  all. 
Do  what  you  think  best.  Here  are  all  the  papers  in  the  mat- 
ter. You  can  look  them  over  at  your  leisure." 

Bob  tucked  the  bundle  of  papers  in  his  cantinas,  or  pommel 
bags,  and  left  the  office.  Amy  was  rattling  the  stove  in  her 
open-air  kitchen,  shaking  down  the  ashes  preparatory  to  the 
fire.  Bob  stopped  to  look  across  at  her  trim,  full  figure  in 
its  starched  blue,  immaculate  as  always. 

"Hullo,  Colonel!"  he  called.  "How  are  the  legions  of 
darkness  and  ignorance  standing  the  cannonading  these  days  ? 
Funny  paper  any  new  jokes?" 

This  last  was  in  reference  to  Amy's  habit  of  reading  the 
Congressional  Record  in  search  of  speeches  or  legislation 
affecting  the  forests.  Bob  stoutly  maintained,  and  nobody 
but  Amy  disputed  him,  that  she  was  the  only  living  woman, 
in  or  out  of  captivity,  known  to  read  that  series  of  documents. 

Amy  shook  her  head,  without  looking  up. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Bob  solicitously.  "Noth- 
ing wrong  with  the  Hero,  nor  any  of  the  Assistant  Heroes?" 

Thus  in  their  banter  were  designated  the  President,  and 
such  senators  as  stood  behind  his  policies  of  conservation. 

"Then  the  villains  must  have  been  saying  a  few  triumph- 
ant ha!  ha's!"  pursued  Bob,  referring  to  Fulton,  Clark,  Hey- 
burn  and  the  rest  of  the  senatorial  representatives  of  the  anti- 
conservationists.  "  Or  is  it  merely  the  stove  ?  Let  me  help." 

Amy  stood  upright,  and  thrust  back  her  hair. 

"  Please  don't,"  said  she.  "  I  don't  feel  like  joking  to-day/' 

"It  is  something!"  cried  Bob.  "I  do  beg  your  pardon; 
I  didn't  realize  .  .  .  you  know  I'd  like  to  help,  if  it's 
anything  I  can  do." 

"  It  is  nothing  to  do  with  any  of  us,"  said  Amy,  seating  her- 
self for  a  moment,  and  letting  her  hands  fall  in  her  lap.  "  It's 
just  some  news  that  made  me  feel  sorry.  Ware  came  up  with 


474          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

the  mail  a  little  while  ago,  and  he  tells  us  that  George  Pollock 
has  suddenly  reappeared  and  is  living  down  at  his  own  place." 

"They've  arrested  him!"  cried  Bob. 

"Not  yet;  but  they  will.  The  sheriff  has  been  notified. 
Of  course,  his  friends  warned  him  in  time;  but  he  won't  go. 
Says  he  intends  to  stay." 

"  Then  he'll  go  to  jail." 

"  And  to  prison.  What  chance  has  a  poor  fellow  like  that 
without  money  or  influence?  All  he  has  is  his  denial." 

"Then  he  denies?"  asked  Bob  eagerly. 

"Says  he  knows  nothing  about  Plant's  killing.  His  wife 
died  that  same  morning,  and  he  went  away  because  he  could 
not  stand  it.  That's  his  story;  but  the  evidence  is  strong 
against  him,  poor  fellow." 

"Do  you  believe  him?"  asked  Bob. 

Amy  swung  her  foot,  pondering. 

"No,"  she  said  at  last.  "I  believe  he  killed  Plant;  and  I 
believe  he  did  right!  Plant  killed  his  wife  and  child,  and 
took  away  all  his  property.  That's  what  it  amounted  to." 

"There  are  hardships  worked  in  any  administration," 
Bob  pointed  out. 

Amy  looked  at  him  slowly. 

"  You  don't  believe  that  in  this  case,"  she  pronounced  at  last. 

"Then  Pollock  will  perjure  himself,"  suggested  Bob,  to 
try  her. 

"  And  if  he  has  friends  worth  the  name,  they'll  perjure  them- 
selves, too!"  cried  Amy  boldly.  "They'll  establish  an  alibi, 
they'll  invent  a  murderer  for  Plant,  they'll  do  anything  for  a 
man  as  persecuted  and  hunted  as  poor  George  Pollock!" 

"Heavens!"  returned  Bob,  genuinely  aghast  at  this  whole- 
sale programme.  "What  would  become  of  morals  and 
honour  and  law  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  if  that  sort  of  thing 
obtained?" 

"Law?"  Amy  caught  him  up.  "Law?  It's  become 
foolish.  No  man  lives  capable  of  mastering  it  so  completely 
that  another  man  cannot  find  flaws  in  his  best  efforts.  Reuf 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  475 

and  Schmitz  are  guilty  —  everybody  says  so,  even  them- 
selves. Why  aren't  they  in  jail?  Because  of  the  law.  Don't 
talk  to  me  of  law!" 

" But  how  about  ordinary  mortals?  You  can't  surely  per- 
mit a  man  to  lie  in  a  court  of  justice  just  because  he  thinks 
his  friend's  cause  is  just!" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  sighed  Amy,  as  though 
weary  all  at  once,  "  except  that  it  isn't  right.  The  law  should 
be  a  great  and  wise  judge,  humane  and  sympathetic.  George 
Pollock  should  be  able  to  go  to  that  judge  and  say:  'I  killed 
Plant,  because  he  had  done  me  an  injury  for  which  the  per- 
petrator should  suffer  death.  He  was  permitted  to  do  this 
because  of  the  deficiency  of  the  law.'  And  he  should  be 
able  to  say  it  in  all  confidence  that  he  would  be  given  justice, 
eternal  justice,  and  not  a  thing  so  warped  by  obscure  and 
forgotten  precedents  that  it  fits  nothing  but  some  lawyer's 
warped  notion  of  logic!" 

"Whew!"  whistled  Bob,  "what  a  lady  of  theory  and  eru- 
dition it  is!" 

Amy  eyed  him  doubtfully,  then  smiled. 

"I'm  glad  you  happened  along,"  said  she.  "I  feel  better. 
Now  I  believe  I'll  be  able  to  do  something  with  my  biscuits." 

"  I  could  do  justice  to  some  of  them,"  remarked  Bob,  "  and 
it  would  be  the  real  thing  without  any  precedents  in  that  line 
whatever." 

"Come  around  later  and  you'll  have  the  chance,"  invited 
Amy,  again  addressing  herself  to  the  stove. 

Still  smiling  at  this  wholesale  and  feminine  way  of  leaping 
directly  to  a  despotically  desired  ideal  result,  Bob  took  the 
trail  to  his  own  camp.  Here  he  found  Jack  Pollock  poring 
over  an  old  illustrated  paper. 

"Hullo,  Jack!"  he  called  cheerfully.  "Not  out  on  duty, 
eh?" 

"  I  come  in,"  said  Jack,  rising  to  his  feet  and  folding  the  old 
paper  carefully.  He  said  nothing  more,  but  stood  eyeing 
his  colleague  gravely. 


476         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"You  want  something  of  me?"  asked  Bob. 

"No,"  denied  Jack,  "I  don't  know  nothing  I  want  of  you. 
But  I  was  told  to  come  and  get  a  piece  of  paper  and  maybe 
some  money  that  a  stranger  was  goin'  to  leave  by  our  chimb- 
ley.  It  ain't  there.  You  ain't  seen  it,  by  any  chance? " 

"  It  may  have  got  shoved  among  some  of  my  things  by  mis- 
take," replied  Bob  gravely.  "  I  haven't  had  a  chance  of  look- 
ing. I'm  just  in  from  the  Basin."  At  these  last  words  he 
looked  at  Jack  keenly,  but  that  young  man's  expression 
remained  inscrutable.  "  I'll  look  when  I  get  back,"  he  con- 
tinued after  a  moment;  "just  now  I've  got  to  ride  over  to  the 
mill  to  see  Mr.  Welton." 

Jack  nodded  gravely. 

"  If  you  find  them,  leave  them  by  the  chimbley,"  said  he. 
"I'm  going  to  headquarters." 

Bob  rode  to  the  mill.  By  the  exercise  of  some  diplomacy 
he  brought  the  conversation  to  good  lawyers  without  arous- 
ing Welton' s  suspicions  that  he  could  have  any  personal 
interest  in  the  matter. 

"Erbe's  head  and  shoulders  above  the  rest,"  said  Welton. 
"He  has  half  the  business.  He's  for  Baker's  interests,  and 
our  own;  and  he's  shrewd.  Maybe  you'll  get  into  trouble 
yourself  some  day,  Bob.  Better  send  for  him.  He's  the 
greatest  criminal  lawyer  in  the  business." 

Bob  laughed  heartily  with  his  old  employer.  From  Poole 
he  easily  obtained  currency  for  his  personal  check  of  two 
hundred  dollars.  This  would  do  to  go  on  with  for  the  time 
being.  He  wrote  Erbe's  name  and  address  —  in  a  disguised 
hand  —  on,  a  piece  of  rough  brown  paper.  This  he  wrapped 
around  the  money,  and  deposited  by  the  alarm  clock  on  the 
rough  log  mantelpiece  of  his  cabin.  The  place  was  empty. 
When  he  had  returned  from  his  invited  supper  with  the 
Thornes,  the  package  had  disappeared.  He  did  not  again 
catch  sight  of  Jack  Pollock,  for  next  morning  he  started  out 
on  his  errand  to  the  north  end. 


XIII 

A  NO  ON  of  the  second  day  of  a  journey  that  led  him 
up  the  winding  watered  valleys  of  the  lower  ranges, 
Bob  surmounted  a  ridge  higher  than  the  rest  and  rode 
down  a  long,  wide  slope.  Here  the  character  of  the  country 
changed  completely.  Scrub  oaks,  young  pines  and  chaparral 
covered  the  ground.  Among  this  growth  Bob  made  out  the 
ancient  stumps  of  great  trees.  The  ranch  houses  were  built 
of  sawn  lumber,  and  possessed  brick  chimneys.  In  appear- 
ance they  seemed  midway  between  the  farm  houses  of  the 
older  settled  plains  and  the  rougher  cabins  of  the  moun- 
taineers. 

Bob  continued  on  a  dusty  road  until  he  rode  into  a  little 
town  which  he  knew  must  be  Durham.  Its  main  street  con- 
tained three  stores,  two  saloons,  a  shady  tree,  a  windmill  and 
watering  trough  and  a  dozen  chair-tilted  loafers.  A  wooden 
sidewalk  shaded  by  a  wooden  awning  ran  the  entire  length 
of  this  collection  of  commercial  enterprises.  A  redwood 
hitching  rail,  much  chewed,  flanked  it.  Three  saddle  horses, 
and  as  many  rigs,  dozed  in  the  sun. 

Bob  tied  his  saddle  horse  to  the  rail,  leaving  the  pack 
animal  to  its  own  devices.  Without  attention  to  the  curious 
stares  of  the  loafers,  he  pushed  into  the  first  store,  and 
asked  directions  of  the  proprietor.  The  man,  a  type  of  the 
transplanted  Yankee,  pushed  the  spectacles  up  over  his  fore- 
head, and  coolly  surveyed  his  questioner  from  head  to  foot 
before  answering. 

"I  see  you're  a  ranger,"  he  remarked  drily.  "Well,  I 
wouldn't  go  to  Samuels's  if  I  was  you.  He's  give  it  out  that 
he'll  kill  the  next  ranger  that  sets  foot  on  his  place." 

477 


478         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"I've  heard  that  sort  of  talk  before,"  replied  Bob  impa- 
tiently. 

"Samuels  means  what  he  says,"  stated  the  storekeeper. 
"  He  drove  off  the  last  of  you  fellows  with  a  shotgun  —  and 
he  went  too." 

"  You  haven't  told  me  how  to  get  there,"  Bob  pointed  out. 

"All  you  have  to  do  is  to  turn  to  the  right  at  the  white 
church  and  follow  your  nose,"  replied  the  man  curtly. 

"How  far  is  it?" 

"About  four  mile." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Bob,  and  started  out. 

The  man  let  him  get  to  the  door. 

"Say,  you!"  he  called. 

Bob  stopped. 

"You  might  be  in  better  business  than  to  turn  a  poor  man 
out  of  his  house  and  home." 

Bob  did  not  wait  to  hear  the  rest.  As  he  untied  his  saddle 
horse,  a  man  brushed  by  him  with  what  was  evidently  inten- 
tional rudeness,  for  he  actually  jostled  Bob's  shoulder.  The 
man  jerked  loose  the  tie  rein  of  his  own  mount,  leaped  to  the 
saddle,  and  clattered  away.  Bob  noticed  that  he  turned  to 
the  right  at  the  white  church. 

The  four-mile  ride,  Bob  discovered,  was  almost  straight 
up.  At  the  end  of  it  he  found  himself  well  elevated  above 
the  valley,  and  once  more  in  the  sugar-pine  belt.  The  road 
wound  among  shades  of  great  trees.  Piles  of  shakes,  gleam- 
ing and  fragrant,  awaited  the  wagon.  Rude  signs,  daubed 
on  the  riven  shingles,  instructed  the  wayfarer  that  this  or  that 
dim  track  through  the  forest  led  to  So-and-so's  shake  camp. 

It  was  by  now  after  four  of  the  afternoon.  Bob  met 
nobody  on  the  road,  but  he  saw  in  the  dust  fresh  tracks  which 
he  shrewdly  surmised  to  be  those  of  the  man  who  had  jostled 
him.  Samuels  had  his  warning.  The  mountaineer  would 
be  ready.  Bob  had  no  intention  of  delivering  a  frontal 
attack. 

He  rode  circumspectly,  therefore,  until  he  discerned  an 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          479 

opening  in  the  forest.  Here  he  dismounted.  The  open- 
ing, of  course,  might  be  only  that  of  a  natural  meadow,  but 
in  fact  proved  to  be  the  homestead  claim  of  which  Bob  was 
in  search. 

The  improvements  consisted  of  a  small  log  cabin  with  a 
stone  and  mud  chimney;  a  log  stable  slightly  larger  in  size; 
a  rickety  fence  made  partly  of  riven  pickets,  partly  of  split 
rails,  but  long  since  weathered  and  rotted;  and  what  had 
been  a  tiny  orchard  of  a  score  of  apple  trees.  At  some  remote 
period  this  orchard  had  evidently  been  cultivated,  but  now  the 
weeds  and  grasses  grew  rank  and  matted  around  neglected 
trees.  The  whole  place  was  down  at  the  heels.  Tin  cans 
and  rusty  baling  wire  strewed  the  back  yard;  an  iil-cared-for 
wagon  stood  squarely  in  front;  broken  panes  of  glass  in  the 
windows  had  been  replaced  respectively  by  an  old  straw 
hat  and  the  dirty  remains  of  overalls.  The  supports  of  the 
little  verandah  roof  sagged  crazily.  Over  it  clambered  a  vine. 
Close  about  drew  the  forest.  That  was  it:  the  forest!  The 
"homestead"  was  a  mere  hovel;  the  cultivation  a  patch; 
the  improvements  sketchy  and  ancient;  but  the  forest, 
become  valuable  for  lumber  where  long  it  had  been  consid- 
ered available  only  for  shakes,  furnished  the  real  motive  for 
this  desperate  attempt  to  rehabilitate  old  and  lapsed  rights. 

The  place  was  populous  enough,  for  all  its  squalor.  A  half- 
dozen  small  children,  scantily  clothed,  swarmed  amongst  the 
tin  cans;  two  women,  one  with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  appeared 
and  disappeared  through  the  low  doorway  of  the  cabin;  a 
horse  or  two  dozed  among  the  trees  of  the  neglected  orchard; 
chickens  scratched  everywhere.  Square  in  the  middle  of 
the  verandah,  in  a  wooden  chair,  sat  an  old  man  whom  Bob 
guessed  to  be  Samuels.  He  sat  bolt  upright,  facing  the 
front,  his  knees  spread  apart,  his  feet  planted  solidly.  A 
patriarchal  beard  swept  his  great  chest;  thick,  white  hair 
crowned  his  head;  bushy  white  brows,  like  thatch,  over- 
shadowed  his  eyes.  Even  at  the  distance,  Bob  could  imagine 
the  deep-set,  flashing,  vigorous  eyes  of  the  old  man.  For 


480          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

everything  about  him,  save  the  colour  of  his  hair  and  beard, 
bespoke  great  vigour.  His  solidly  planted  attitude  in  his 
chair,  the  straight  carriage  of  his  back,  the  set  of  his  shoulders, 
the  very  poise  of  his  head  told  of  the  power  and  energy 
of  an  autocrat.  Across  his  knees  rested  a  shotgun. 

As  Bob  watched,  a  tall  youth  sauntered  around  the  corner 
of  the  cabin.  He  spoke  to  the  old  man.  Samuels  did  not 
look  around,  but  nodded  his  massive  head.  The  young 
man  disappeared  in  the  cabin  to  return  after  a  moment, 
accompanied  by  the  individual  Bob  had  seen  in  Durham. 
The  two  spoke  again  to  the  old  man;  then  sauntered  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  barn. 

Bob  returned,  untied  his  horse;  and,  leading  that  animal, 
approached  the  cabin  afoot.  No  sooner  had  he  emerged  into 
view  when  the  old  man  arose  and  came  squarely  and  uncom- 
promisingly to  meet  him.  The  two  encountered  perhaps 
fifty  yards  from  the  cabin  door. 

Bob  found  that  a  closer  inspection  of  his  antagonist  rather 
strengthened  than  diminished  the  impression  of  force.  The 
old  man's  eyes  were  flashing  fire,  and  his  great  chest  rose 
and  fell  rapidly.  He  held  his  weapon  across  the  hollow 
of  his  left  arm,  but  the  muscles  of  his  right  hand  were  white 
with  the  power  of  his  grip. 

"Get  out  of  here!"  he  fairly  panted  at.  Bob.  "I  warned 
you  fellows  I" 

Bob  replied  calmly. 

"I  came  in  to  see  if  I  could  get  to  stay  for  supper,  and  to 
feed  my  horse." 

At  this  the  old  man  exploded  in  a  violent  rage.  He  ordered 
Bob  off  the  place  instantly,  and  menaced  him  with  his  shot- 
gun. Had  Bob  been  mounted,  Samuels  would  probably 
have  shot  him;  but  the  mere  position  of  a  horseman  afoot 
conveys  subtly  an  impression  of  defencelessness  that  is 
difficult  to  overcome.  He  is,  as  it  were,  anchored  to  the  spot, 
and  at  the  other  man's  mercy.  Samuels  raged,  but  he  did 
not  shoot. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          481 

At  the  sounds  of  altercation,  however,  the  whole  hive 
swarmed.  The  numerous  children  scuttled  for  cover  like 
quail,  but  immediately  peered  forth  again.  The  two  women 
thrust  their  heads  from  the  doorway.  From  the  direction 
of  the  stable  the  younger  men  came  running.  One  of  them 
held  a  revolver  in  his  hand. 

During  all  this  turmoil  and  furore  Bob  had  stood  perfectly 
still,  saying  no  word.  Provided  he  did  nothing  to  invite  it, 
he  was  now  safe  from  personal  violence.  To  be  sure, 
a  very  slight  mistake  would  invite  it.  Bob  waited 
patiently. 

He  remembered,  and  was  acting  upon,  a  conversation  he 
had  once  held  with  Ware.  The  talk  had  fallen  on  gun- 
fighting,  and  Bob,  as  usual,  was  trying  to  draw  Ware  out. 
The  latter  was,  also,  as  usual,  exceedingly  reticent  and  dis- 
inclined to  open  up. 

"What  would  you  do  if  a  man  got  your  hajids  up?" 
chaffed  Bob. 

Ware  turned  on  him  quick  as  a  flash. 

"No  man  ever  got  my  hands  up!" 

"No?"  said  Bob,  hugely  delighted  at  the  success  of  his 
stratagem.  "What  do  you  do,  then,  when  a  man  gets  the 
cold  drop  on  you?" 

But  now  Ware  saw  the  trap  into  which  his  feet  were  lead- 
ing him,  and  drew  back  into  his  shell. 

"  Oh,  shoot  out,  or  blutf  out,"  said  he  briefly. 

"But  look  here,  Ware,"  insisted  Bob,  "it's  all  very  well 
to  talk  like  that.  But  suppose  a  man  actually  has  his  gun 
down  on  you.  How  can  you  '  shoot  out  or  bluff  out'  ?" 

Ware  suddenly  became  serious. 

"No  man,"  said  he,  "can  hold  a  gun  on  you  for  over  ten 
seconds  without  his  eyes  flickering.  It's  too  big  a  strain. 
He  don't  let  go  for  morn  about  the  hundredth  part  of  a 
second.  After  that  he  has  holt  again  for  another  ten  seconds, 
and  will  pull  trigger  if  you  bat  an  eyelash.  But  if  you  take 
it  when  his  eyes  flicker,  and  are  quick,  you'll  get  himl" 


482          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"What  about  the  other  way  around?"  asked  Bob. 

"I  never  pulled  a  gun  unless  I  meant  to  shoot,"  said  Ware 
grimly. 

The  practical  philosophy  of  this  Bob  was  now  utilizing. 
If  he  had  ridden  up  boldly,  Samuels  would  probably  have 
shot  him  from  the  saddle.  Having  gained  the  respite,  Bob 
now  awaited  the  inevitable  momentary  relaxing  from  this 
top  pitch  of  excitement.  It  came. 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  intention  of  tacking  up  any 
notices  or  serving  any  papers,"  he  said  quietly,  referring  to 
the  errand  of  the  man  whom  Samuels  had  driven  off  at  the 
point  of  his  weapon.  "I  am  travelling  on  business;  and  I 
asked  for  shelter  and  supper." 

"No  ranger  sets  foot  on  my  premises,"  growled  Samuels. 

"Very  well,"  said  Bob,  unpinning  and  pocketing  his  pine 
tree  badge.  ("Oh,  Pd  have  died  rather  than  do  that!"  cried 
A  my  when  she  heard.  "I'd  have  stuck  to  my  guns! "  "  Heroic, 
but  useless,"  replied  her  brother  drily.)  "  I  don't  care  whether 
the  ranger  is  fed  or  not.  But  I'm  a  lot  interested  in  me.  I 
ask  you  as  a  man,  not  as  an  official." 

"Your  sort  ain't  welcome  here;  and  if  you  ain't  got  sense 
enough  to  see  it,  you  got  to  be  shown!"  the  youngest  man 
broke  in  roughly. 

Bob  turned  to  him  calmly. 

"I  am  not  asking  your  sufferance,"  said  he,  "nor  would  I 
eat  where  I  am  not  welcome.  I  am  asking  Mr.  Samuels 
to  bid  me  welcome.  If  he  will  not  do  so,  I  will  ride  on."  He 
turned  to  the  old  man  again.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
the  North  End  is  so  far  behind  the  South  End  in  common 
hospitality?  We've  fed  enough  men  at  the  Wolverine 
Company  in  our  time." 

Bob  let  fly  this  shaft  at  a  venture.  He  knew  how  many 
passing  mountaineers  paused  for  a  meal  at  the  cook  house, 
and  surmised  it  probable  that  at  least  one  of  his  three  oppo- 
nents might  at  some  time  have  stopped  there.  This  proved 
to  be  the  case. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          483 

"Are  you  with  the  Wolverine  Company?"  demanded 
the  man  who  had  jostled  him. 

"  I  was  for  some  years  in  charge  of  the  woods." 

"I've  et  there.  You  can  stay  to  supper,"  said  Samuels 
ungraciously. 

He  turned  sharp  on  his  heel  and  marched  back  to  the  cabin, 
leaving  Bob  to  follow  with  his  horse.  The  two  younger  men 
likewise  went  about  their  business.  Bob  found  himself  quite 
alone,  with  only  this  ungracious  permission  to  act  on. 

Nevertheless,  quite  imperturbably,  Bob  unsaddled,  led 
his  animal  into  the  dark  stable,  threw  it  some  of  the  wild  hay 
stacked  therein,  washed  himself  in  the  nearby  creek,  and  took 
his  station  on  the  deserted  verandah.  The  twilight  fell. 
Some  of  the  children  ventured  into  sight,  but  remained 
utterly  unmoved  by  the  young  man's  tentative  advances. 
He  heard  people  moving  about  inside,  but  no  one  came  near 
him.  Finally,  just  at  dusk,  the  youngest  man  protruded  his 
head  from  the  doorway. 

"Come  to  supper,"  said  he  surlily. 

Bob  ducked  his  head  to  enter  a  long,  low  room.  Its 
walls  were  of  the  rough  logs;  its  floor  of  hewn  timbers;  its 
ceiling  of  round  beams  on  which  had  been  thrown  untrimmed 
slabs  as  a  floor  to  the  loft  above.  A  board  table  stood  in 
the  centre  of  this,  flanked  by  homemade  chairs  and  stools  of 
all  varieties  of  construction.  A  huge  iron  cooking  stove 
occupied  all  of  one  end  —  an  extraordinary  piece  of  ordnance. 
The  light  from  a  single  glass  lamp  cast  its  feeble  illumination 
over  coarse  dishes  steaming  with  food. 

Bob  bowed  politely  to  the  two  women,  who  stood,  their 
arms  crossed  on  their  stomachs,  without  deigning  his  salu- 
tation the  slightest  attention.  The  children,  of  all  sizes  and 
ages,  stared  at  him  unblinking.  The  two  men  shuffled  to 
their  seats,  without  looking  up  at  the  visitor.  Only  the  old 
man  vouchsafed  him  the  least  notice.. 

"Set  thar!"  he  growled,  indicating  a  stool. 

Bob  found  on  the  board  that  abundance  and  variety  which 


484          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

always  so  much  surprises  the  stranger  to  a  Sierra  mount- 
aineer's cabin.  Besides  the  usual  bacon,  beans,  and  bread, 
there  were  dishes  of  canned  string-beans  and  corn,  potatoes, 
boiled  beef,  tomatoes  and  pressed  glass  dishes  of  preserves. 
Coffee,  hot  as  fire,  and  strong  as  lye,  came  in  thick  china 
cups  without  handles. 

The  meal  went  forward  in  absolute  silence,  which  Bob 
knew  better  than  to  interrupt.  It  ended  for  each  as  he  or  she 
finished  eating.  The  two  women  were  left  at  the  last  quite 
alone.  Bob  followed  his  host  to  the  veranda.  There  he 
silently  offered  the  old  man  a  cigar;  the  younger  men  had 
vanished. 

Samuels  took  the  cigar  with  a  grunt  of  thanks,  srnelled  it 
carefully,  bit  an  inch  off  the  end,  and  lit  it  with  a  slow-burn- 
ing sulphur  match.  Bob  also  lit  up. 

For  one  hour  and  a  half  —  two  cigars  apiece  —  the  two 
sat  side  by  side  without  uttering  a  syllable.  The  velvet  dark 
drew  close.  The  heavens  sparkled  as  though  frosted  with 
light.  Bob,  sitting  tight  on  what  he  knew  was  the  one  and 
only  plan  to  accomplish  his  purpose,  began  to  despair  of  his 
chance.  Of  his  companion  he  could  make  out  dimly  only 
the  white  of  his  hair  and  beard,  the  glowing  fire  of  his  cigar. 
Inside  the  house  the  noises  made  by  the  inhabitants  thereof 
increased  and  died  away;  evidently  the  household  was  seek- 
ing its  slumber.  A  tree-toad  chirped,  loudest  in  ail  the  world 
of  stillness. 

Suddenly,  without  warning,  the  old  man  scraped  back  his 
chair.  Bob's  heart  leaped.  Was  his  one  chance  escaping 
him?  Then  to  his  relief  Samuels  spoke.  The  long  duel  of 
silence  was  at  an  end. 


XIV 

WHAT  might  your  name  be?"  inquired  Samuels. 
"Orde." 
"I  heerd  of  you     .     .     .    what  might  you  be 
doing  up  here?" 

"I'm  just  riding  through." 

"Best  thing  any  of  you  can  do,"  commented  the  old  mail 
grimly. 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me  now  why  you  jumped  on  me  so  this 
evening,"  said  Bob. 

"If  you  don't  know,  you're  a  fool,"  growled  Samuels. 

"I've  knocked  around  a  good  deal,"  persisted  Bob,  "and 
I've  discovered  that  one  side  always  sounds  good  until  you 
hear  the  other  man's  story.  I've  only  heard  one  side  of 
this  one." 

"And  that's  all  you're  like  to  hear,"  Samuels  told  him. 
"You  don't  get  no  evidence  out  of  me  against  myself." 

Bob  laughed. 

"You're  mighty  suspicious  —  and  I  don't  know  as  I  blame 
you.  Bless  your  soul,  what  evidence  do  you  suppose  I  could 
get  from  you  in  a  case  like  this?  You've  already  made 
it  clear  enough  with  that  old  blunderbuss  of  yours  what  you 
think  of  the  merits  of  the  case.  I  asked  you  out  of  per- 
sonal interest.  I  know  the  Government  claims  you  don't 
own  this  place;  and  I  was  curious  to  know  why  you  think 
you  do.  The  Government  reasoning  looks  pretty  conclu- 
sive to  a  man  who  doesn't  know  all  the  circumstances." 

"Oh,  it  is,  is  it!"  cried  Samuels,  stung  to  anger.  "Well, 
what  claim  do  you  think  the  Government  has?" 

But  Bob  was  too  wily  to  be  put  in  the  aggressive. 

485 


486          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"I'm  not  thinking;  I'm  asking,"  said  he.  "They  say 
you're  holding  this  for  the  timber,  and  never  proved 
up." 

"I  took  it  up  bony-fidy,"  fairly  shouted  Samuels.  "Do 
you  think  a  man  plants  an  orchard  and  such  like  on  a  tim- 
ber claim.  The  timber  is  worth  something,  of  course.  Well, 
don't  every  man  take  up  timber?  What  about  that  Wolver- 
ine Company  of  yours?  What  about  the  Yellow  Pine 
people?  What  about  everybody,  everywhere?  Ain't  I  got 
a  right  to  it,  same  as  everybody  else?" 

He  leaned  forward,  pounding  his  knee.  A  querulous  and 
sleepy  voice  spoke  up  from  the  interior  of  the  cabin : 

"  Oh,  pa,  for  heaven's  sake  don't  holler  so!" 

The  old  man  paused  in  mid-career.  Over  the  treetops  the 
moon  was  rising  slowly.  Its  light  struck  across  the  lower 
part  of  the  verandah,  showing  clearly  the  gnarled  hand  of  the 
mountaineer  suspended  above  his  sturdy  knee;  casting  into 
dimness  the  silver  of  his  massive  head.  The  hand  descended 
noiselessly. 

"Ain't  I  got  my  rights,  same  as  another  man?"  he  asked, 
more  reasonably.  "  Just  because  I  left  out  some  little  piece 
of  their  cussed  red-tape  am  I  a-goin'  to  be  turned  out  bag  and 
baggage,  child,  kit,  and  kaboodle,  while  fifty  big  men  steal, 
just  plain  steal,  a  thousand  acres  apiece  and  there  ain't  noth- 
ing said  ?  Not  if  I  know  it ! " 

He  talked  on.  Slowly  Bob  came  to  an  understanding  of 
the  man's  position.  His  argument,  stripped  of  its  verbiage 
and  self-illusion,  was  simplicity  itself.  The  public  domain 
was  for  the  people.  Men  selected  therefrom  what  they 
needed.  All  about  him,  for  fifty  years,  homesteads  had  been 
taken  up  quite  frankly  for  the  sake  of  timber.  Nobody  made 
any  objections.  Nobody  even  pretended  that  these  claims 
were  ever  intended  to  be  lived  on.  The  barest  letter  of  the 
law  had  been  complied  with. 

"  I've  seen  a  house,  made  out'n  willow  branches,  and  out'n 
coal-oil  cans,  called  resident  buildin's  under  the  act,"  said 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          487 

Samuels,  "  and  they  was  so  lost  in  the  woods  that  it  needed 
a  compass  to  find  'em." 

He,  Samuels,  on  the  other  hand,  had  actually  planted  an 
orchard  and  made  improvements,  and  even  lived  on  the  place 
for  a  time.  Then  he  had  let  the  claim  lapse,  and  only  recently 
had  decided  to  resume  what  he  sincerely  believed  to  be  his 
rights  in  the  matter. 

Bob  did  not  at  any  point  suggest  any  of  the  counter  argu- 
ments he  might  very  well  have  used.  He  listened,  leaning 
back  against  the  rail,  watching  the  moonlight  drop  log  by 
log  as  the  luminary  rose  above  the  verandah  roof. 

"  And  so  there  come  along  last  week  a  ranger  and  started 
to  tack  up  a  sign  bold  as  brass  that  read:  'Property  of  the 
United  States.'  Property  of  hell!" 

He  ceased  talking.     Bob  said  nothing. 

"Now  you  got  it;  what  you  think?"  asked  the  old  man  at 
last. 

"It's  tough  luck,"  said  Bob.  "There's  more  to  be  said 
for  your  side  of  the  case  than  I  had  thought." 

"There's  a  lot  more  goin'  to  be  said  yet,"  stated  Samuels, 
truculently. 

"  But  I'm  afraid  when  it  comes  right  down  to  the  law  of  it, 
they'll  decide  against  your  claim.  The  law  reads  pretty 
plain  on  how  to  go  about  it;  and  as  I  understand  it,  you  never 
did  prove  up." 

"  My  lawyer  says  if  I  hang  on  here,  they  never  can  get  me 
out,"  said  Samuels,  "and  I'm  a-goin'  to  hang  on." 

"Well,  of  course,  that's  for  the  courts  to  decide,"  agreed 
Bob,  "and  I  don't  claim  to  know  much  about  law  —  nor 
want  to." 

"Me  neither!"  agreed  the  mountaineer  fervently. 

"But  I've  known  of  a  dozen  cases  just  like  yours  that 
went  against  the  claimant.  There  was  the  Brown  case  in 
Idaho,  for  instance,  that  was  exactly  like  yours.  Brown 
had  some  money,  and  he  fought  it  through  up  to  the  Supreme 
Court,  but  they  decided  against  him." 


488          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"How  was  that?"  asked  Samuels. 

Bob  explained  at  length,  dispassionately,  avoiding  even 
the  colour  of  argument,  but  drawing  strongly  the  parallel. 

"Even  if  you  could  afford  it,  I'm  almighty  afraid  you'd 
run  up  against  exactly  the  same  thing,"  Bob  concluded,  "  and 
they'd  certainly  use  the  Brown  case  as  a  precedent." 

"Well,  I've  got  money!"  said  Samuels.  "Don't  you  for- 
get it.  I  don't  have  to  live  in  a  place  like  this.  I've  got  a 
good,  sawn-lumber  house,  painted,  in  Durham  and  a  gar- 
den of  posies." 

"I'd  like  to  see  it,"  said  Bob. 

"Sometime  you  get  to  Durham,  ask  for  me,"  invited 
Samuels. 

"  Well,  I  see  how  you  feel.  If  I  were  in  your  fix,  I'd  prob- 
ably fight  it  too,  but  I'm  morally  certain  they'd  get  you  in 
the  courts.  And  it  is  a  tremendous  expense  for  nothing." 

"Well,  they've  got  to  git  me  off'n  here  first,"  threatened 
Samuels. 

Bob  averted  the  impending  anger  with  a  soft  chuckle. 

"I  wouldn't  want  the  job!"  said  be.  "But  if  they  had 
the  courts  with  them,  they'd  get  you  off.  You  can  drive 
those  rangers  up  a  tree  quick  enough  ("  You  know  that  isn't 
so!"  cried  Amy  at  the  subsequent  recital.),  but  this  is  a  Fed- 
eral matter,  and  they'll  send  troops  against  you,  if  necessary." 

"  My  lawyer  —      "  began  Samuels. 

"May  be  dead  right,  or  he  may  enjoy  a  legal  battle  at  the 
other  man's  expense,"  put  in  Bob.  "The  previous  cases 
are  all  dead  against  him;  and  they're  the  only  ammuni- 
tion." 

" It's  a-gittin'  cold,"  said  Samuels,  rising  abruptly.  "Let's 
git  inside!" 

Bob  followed  him  to  the  main  room  of  the  cabin  where 
the  mountaineer  lit  a  tallow  candle  stuck  in  the  neck  of  a 
bottle. 

"Oh,  pa,  come  to  bed!"  called  a  sleepy  voice,  "and  quit 
your  palavering." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          489 

"She!  up!"  commanded  Samuels,  setting  the  candle  in  the 
middle  of  the  table,  and  seating  himself  by  it.  "Ain't  there 
no  decisions  the  other  way  ?  " 

"I'm  no  lawyer,"  Bob  pointed  out,  dropping  into  a  stool 
on  the  other  side,  so  that  the  candle  stood  between  them, 
"and  my  opinion  is  of  no  value"  —  the  old  man  grunted 
what  might  have  been  assent,  or  a  mere  indication  of  atten- 
tion —  "  but  as  far  as  I  knew,  there  have  been  none.  I  know 
all  the  leading  cases,  I  think"  he  added. 

"So  they  can  put  me  off,  and  leave  all  these  other  fellows, 
who  are  worse  off  than  I  be  in  keepin'  up  with  what  the  law 
wants!"  cried  Samuels. 

"I  hope  they'll  begin  action  against  every  doubtful  claim," 
said  Bob  soberly. 

"It  may  be  the  law  to  take  away  my  homestead,  but  it 
ain't  justice,"  stated  the  old  man. 

Bob  ventured  his  first  aggressive  movement. 

"Did  you  2ver  read  the  Homestead  Law?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Well,  as  you  remember,  that  law  states  pretty  plainly 
the  purpose  of  the  Homestead  Act.  It  is  to  provide,  out  of 
the  public  lands,  for  any  citizen  not  otherwise  provided,  with 
one  hundred  and  sixty  acres  as  a  farm  to  cultivate  or  a  home- 
stead on  which  to  live.  When  a  man  takes  that  land  for  any 
other  purpose  whatever,  he  commits  an  injustice;  and  when 
that  land  is  recalled  to  the  public  domain,  that  injustice  is 
righted,  not  another  committed." 

"Injustice!"  challenged  the  old  man;  "against  what,  for 
heaven's  sake!" 

"Against  the  People,"  replied  Bob  firmly. 

"I  suppose  these  big  lumber  dealers  need  a  home  and  a 
farm  tool"  sneered  Samuels. 

"Because  they  did  wrong  is  no  reason  you  should." 

"'Who  dares  say  I  done  wrong?"  demanded  the  mountain- 
eer. "Look  here!  Why  does  the  Government  pick  on  me 
and  try  to  drive  me  off'n  my  little  place  where  I'm  living, 


4QO          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

and  leave  these  other  fellows  be?    What  right  or  justice  is 
there  in  that?" 

"I  don't  know  the  ins  and  out  of  it  all,"  Bob  reminded 
him.  "As  I  said  before,  I'm  no  lawyer.  But  they've  at 
least  conformed  with  the  forms  of  the  law,  as  far  as  the  Gov- 
ernment has  any  evidence.  You  have  not.  I  imagine  that's 
the  reason  your  case  has  been  selected  first." 

"  To  hell  with  a  law  that  drives  the  poor  man  off  his  home 
and  leaves  the  rich  man  on  his  ill-got  spoils!"  cried  Samuels. 

The  note  in  this  struck  Bob's  ear  as  something  alien.  "I 
wonder  what  that  echoes  from!"  was  his  unspoken  thought. 
Aloud  he  merely  remarked: 

"But  you  said  yourself  you  have  money  and  a  home  in 
Durham." 

"  That  may  be,"  retorted  Samuels,  "  but  ain't  I  got  as  much 
right  to  the  timber,  I  who  have  been  in  the  country  since  '55, 
as  the  next  man  ?  " 

"Why,  of  course  you  have,  Mr.  Samuels,"  r greed  Bob 
heartily.  "I'm  with  you  there." 

"Well?" 

"  But  you've  exercised  your  rights  to  timber  claims  already. 
You  took  up  your  timber  claim  in  '89,  and  what  is  more, 
your  wife  and  her  brother  and  your  oldest  son  also  took  up 
timber  claims  in  '90.  As  I  understand  it,  this  is  an  old 
homestead  claim,  antedating  the  others." 

Samuels,  rather  taken  aback,  stared  uncertainly.  He  had 
been  lured  from  his  vantage  ground  of  force  to  that  of  argu- 
ment; how  he  scarcely  knew.  It  had  certainly  been  without 
his  intention. 

Bob,  however,  had  no  desire  that  the  old  man  should  again 
take  his  stand  behind  the  impenetrable  screen  of  threat 
and  bluster  from  which  he  had  been  decoyed. 

"We've  all  got  to  get  together,  as  citizens,  to  put  a  stop  to 
this  sort  of  thing,"  he  shifted  his  grounds.  "I  believe  the 
time  is  at  hand  when  graft  and  grab  by  the  rich  and  power- 
ful will  have  to  go.  It  will  go  only  when  we  take  hold  together. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          491 

Look  at  San  Francisco With  great  skill  he  drew  the 

old  man  into  a  discussion  of  the  graft  cases  in  that  city. 

"Graft,"  he  concluded,  "is  just  the  price  the  people  are 
willing  to  pay  to  get  their  politics  done  for  them  while  they 
attend  to  the  pressing  business  of  development  and  building. 
They  haven't  time  nor  energy  to  do  everything,  so  they're 
willing  to  pay  to  have  some  things  taken  off  their  hands. 
The  price  is  graft.  When  the  people  have  more  time,  when 
the  other  things  are  done,  then  the  price  will  be  too  high. 
They'll  decide  to  attend  to  their  own  business." 

Samuels  listened  to  this  closely.  "There's  a  good  deal 
in  what  you  say,"  he  agreed.  "  I  know  it's  that  way  with  us. 
If  I  couldn't  build  a  better  road  with  less  money  and  less 
men  than  our  Supervisor,  Curtis,  does,  I'd  lie  down  and  roll 
over.  But  I  ain't  got  time  to  be  supervisor,  even  if  anybody 
had  time  to  elect  me.  There's  a  bunch  of  reformers  down 
our  way,  but  they  don't  seem  to  change  Curtis  much." 

"Reformers  are  no  good  unless  the  rank  and  file  of  the 
people  come  to  think  the  way  they  do,"  said  Bob.  "That's 
why  we've  got  to  start  by  being  good  citizens  ourselves,  no 
matter  what  the  next  man  would  do." 

Samuels  peered  at  him  strangely,  around  the  guttering 
candle.  Bob  allowed  him  no  time  to  express  his  thought. 

"  But  to  get  back  to  your  own  case,"  said  he.  "  What  gets 
me  is  why  you  destroy  your  homestead  right  for  a  practical 
certainty." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Why,  I  personally  think  it's  a  certainty  that  you  will  be 
dispossessed  here.  If  you  wait  for  the  law  to  put  you  off, 
you'll  have  no  right  to  take  up  another  homestead  —  your 
right  will  be  destroyed." 

"What  good  would  a  homestead  right  do  me  these  days?" 
demanded  Samuels.  "There's  nothing  left." 

"New  lands  are  thrown  open  constantly,"  said  Bob,  "and 
it's  better,  other  things  being  equal,  to  have  a  right  than  to 
want  it  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  voluntarily  relinquish 


492          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

this  claim,  your  right  to  take  up  another  homestead  is  still 
good." 

At  the  mention  of  relinquishment  the  old  mountaineer 
shied  like  a  colt.  With  great  patience  Bob  took  up  the  other 
side  of  the  question.  The  elements  of  the  problem  were  now 
all  laid  down  —  patriotism,  the  certainty  of  ultimate  loss, 
the  advisability  of  striving  to  save  rights,  the  desire  to  do  one's 
part  toward  bringing  the  land  grabbers  in  line.  Remained 
only  so  to  apply  the  pressure  of  all  these  cross-motives  that 
they  should  finally  bring  the  old  man  to  the  point  of  definite 
action. 

Bob  wrestled  with  the  demons  of  selfishness,  doubt, 
suspicion,  pride,  stubbornness,  anger,  acquisitiveness  that 
swarmed  in  the  old  man's  spirit,  as  Christian  with  Apollyon. 
The  labour  was  as  great.  At  times,  as  he  retraced  once  more 
and  yet  again  ground  already  covered,  his  patience  was  over- 
come by  a  great  weariness;  almost  the  elemental  obstinacy 
of  the  man  wore  him  down.  Then  his  very  soul  clamoured 
within  him  with  the  desire  to  cut  all  this  short,  to  cry  out 
impatiently  against  the  slow  stupidity  or  mulishness,  or  avari- 
ciousness,  or  whatever  it  was,  that  permitted  the  old  man 
to  agree  to  every  one  of  the  premises,  but  to  balk  finally  at 
the  conclusion.  The  night  wore  on.  Bob  realized  that  it 
was  now  or  never;  that  he  must  take  advantage  of  this 
receptive  mood  a  combination  of  skill  and  luck  had  gained 
for  him.  The  old  man  must  be  held  to  the  point.  The 
candle  burned  out.  The  room  grew  chill.  Samuels  threw 
an  armful  of  pitch  pine  on  the  smouldering  logs  of  the  fire- 
place that  balanced  the  massive  cook  stove.  By  its  light 
the  discussion  went  on.  The  red  flames  reflected  strangely 
from  unexpected  places,  showing  the  oddest  inconsequences. 
Bob,  at  times,  found  himself  drifting  into  noticing  these 
things.  He  stared  for  a  moment  hypnotically  on  the  incon- 
gruous juxtaposition  of  a  skillet  and  an  ink  bottle.  Then  he 
roused  himself  with  a  start;  for,  although  his  tongue  had  con- 
tinued saying  what  his  brain  had  commanded  it  to  say,  the 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          493 

dynamics  had  gone  from  his  utterance,  and  the  old  man  was 
stirring  restlessly  as  though  about  to  bring  the  conference 
to  a  close.  Warned  by  this  incident,  he  forced  his  whole 
powers  to  the  front.  His  head  was  getting  tired,  but  he  must 
continuously  bring  to  bear  against  this  dead  opposition  all 
the  forces  of  his  will. 

At  last,  with  many  hesitations,  the  old  man  signed.  The 
other  two  men,  rubbing  their  eyes  sleepily,  put  down  their 
names  as  witnesses,  and,  shivering  in  the  night  chill,  crawled 
back  to  rest,  without  any  very  clear  idea  of  what  they  had 
been  called  on  to  do.  Bob  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  the 
precious  document  clasped  tight.  The  taut  cords  of  his  being 
had  relaxed.  For  a  moment  he  rested.  To  his  conscious- 
ness dully  penetrated  the  sound  of  a  rooster  crowing. 

"Don't  see  how  you  keep  chickens,"  he  found  himself 
saying;  "we  can't.  Coyotes  and  cats  get  'em.  I  wish  you'd 
tell  me." 

Opposite  him  sat  old  Samuels,  his  head  forward,  motion- 
less as  a  graven  image.  Between  them  the  new  candle, 
brought  for  the  signing  of  the  relinquishment,  flared  and 
sputtered. 

Bob  stumbled  to  his  feet. 

"Good  night,"  said  he. 

Samuels  neither  moved  nor  stirred.  He  might  have  been 
a  figure  such  as  used  to  be  placed  before  the  entrances  of 
wax  works  exhibitions,  so  still  he  sat,  so  fixed  were  his  eyes, 
so  pallid  the  texture  of  his  weather-tanned  flesh  after  the 
vigil. 

Bob  went  out  to  the  verandah.  The  chill  air  stirred  his 
blood,  set  in  motion  the  run-down  machinery  of  his  physical 
being.  From  the  darkness  a  bird  chirped  loudly.  Bob 
looked  up.  Over  the  still,  pointed  tops  of  the  trees  the  sky 
had  turned  faintly  gray.  From  the  window  streamed  the 
candle  light.  It  seemed  unwontedly  yellow  in  contrast  to  a 
daylight  that,  save  by  this  contrast,  was  not  yet  visible. 

Bob  stepped  from  the  verandah.     As  he  passed  the  window, 


494          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

he  looked  in.     Samuels  had  risen  to  his  feet,  and  stood  rigid, 
his  clenched  fist  on  the  table. 

At  the  stable  Bob  spoke  quietly  to  his  animals,  saddled 
them,  and  led  them  out.  For  some  instinctive  reason  which 
he  could  not  have  explained,  he  had  decided  to  be  imme- 
diately about  his  journey.  The  cold  gray  of  dawn  had  come, 
and  objects  were  visible  dimly.  Bob  led  his  horses  to  the 
edge  of  the  wood.  There  he  mounted.  When  well  within 
the  trees  he  looked  back.  Samuels  stood  on  the  edge  of* 
the  verandah,  peering  out  into  the  uncertain  light  of  the  dawn. 
From  the  darkness  of  the  trees  Bob  made  out  distinctly  the 
white  of  his  mane-like  hair  and  the  sweep  of  his  patriarchal 
beard.  Across  the  hollow  of  his  left  arm  he  carried  his  shot- 
gun. 

Bob  touched  spur  to  his  saddle  horse  and  vanished  in  the 
depths  of  the  forest. 


XV 

BOB   delivered   his   relinquishment   at    headquarters, 
and  received  the  news. 
George  Pollock  had  been  arrested  for  the  murder 
of  Plant,  and  now  lay  in  jail.     Erbe,  the  White  Oaks  lawyer, 
had  undertaken  charge  of  his  case.    The  evidence  was  as  yet 
purely  circumstantial.     Erbe  had  naturally  given  out  no 
intimation  of  what  his  defence  would  be. 

Then,  within  a  week,  events  began  to  stir  in  Durham 
County.  Samuels  wrote  a  rather  violent  letter  announcing 
his  change  of  mind  in  regard  to  the  relinquishment.  To  this 
a  formal  answer  of  regret  was  sent,  together  with  an  intima- 
tion that  the  matter  was  now  irrevocable.  Somebody  sent  a 
copy  of  the  local  paper  containing  a  vituperative  interview 
with  the  old  mountaineer.  This  was  followed  by  other 
copies  in  which  other  citizens  contributed  letters  of  expostula- 
tion and  indignation.  The  matter  was  commented  on 
ponderously  in  a  typical  country  editorial  containing  such 
phrases  as  "clothed  in  a  little  brief  authority,"  "arrogant 
minions  of  the  law,"  and  so  forth.  Tom  Carroll,  riding 
through  Durham  on  business,  was  treated  to  ugly  looks  and 
uglier  words.  Ross  Fletcher,  visiting  the  county  seat,  escaped 
a  physical  encounter  with  belligerent  members  of  an  inflamed 
populace  only  by  the  exercise  of  the  utmost  coolness  and  good 
nature.  Samuels  moved  further  by  petitioning  to  the  proper 
authorities  for  the  setting  aside  of  the  relinquishment  and 
the  reopening  of  the  whole  case,  on  the  ground  that  his  signa- 
ture had  been  obtained  by  "coercion  and  undue  influence." 
On  the  heels  of  this  a  mass  meeting  in  Durham  was  called 
and  largely  attended,  at  which  a  number  of  speakers  uttered 

495 


496          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

very  inflammatory  doctrines.  It  culminated  in  resolutions 
of  protest  against  Thorne  personally,  against  his  rangers, 
and  his  policy,  alleging  that  one  and  all  acted  "  arbitrarily, 
arrogantly,  unjustly  and  oppressively  in  the  abuse  of  their 
rights  and  duties."  Finally,  as  a  crowning  absurdity,  the 
grand  jury,  at  its  annual  session,  overstepping  in  its  zeal  the 
limits  of  its  powers,  returned  findings  against  "one  Ashley 
Thorne  and  Robert  Orde,  in  the  pay  of  the  United  States 
Government,  for  arbitrary  exceeding  of  their  rights  and 
authorities;  for  illegal  interference  with  the  rights  of  citizens; 
for  oppression,"  and  so  on  through  a  round  dozen  vague 
counts. 

All  this  tumult  astonished  Thorne. 

"  I  had  no  idea  this  Samuels  case  interested  them  quite  so 
much  up  there;  nor  did  I  imagine  it  possible  they  would 
raise  such  a  row  over  that  old  long-horn.  I  haven't  been 
up  in  that  country  as  much  as  I  should  have  liked,  but  I 
did  not  suspect  they  were  so  hostile  to  the  Service." 

"They  always  have  been,"  commented  California  John. 

"  All  this  loud  mouthing  doesn't  mean  much,"  said  Thorne, 
"though  of  course  we'll  have  to  undergo  an  investigation. 
Their  charges  don't  mean  anything.  Old  Samuels  must 
be  a  good  deal  of  a  demagogue." 

"He's  got  a  good  lawyer,"  stated  California  John  briefly. 

"Lawyer?    Who?" 

"Erbe  of  White  Oaks." 

Thorne  stared  at  him  puzzled. 

"Erbe?  Are  you  sure  of  that?  Why,  the  man  is  a  big 
man;  he's  generally  a  cut  or  so  above  cases  of  this  sort  — 
with  as  little  foundation  for  them.  He's  more  in  the  line  of 
fat  fees.  Here's  two  mountain  cases  he's  undertaken." 

"I  never  knew  Johnny  Erbe  to  refuse  any  sort  of  case 
he'd  get  paid  for,"  observed  California  John. 

"Well,  he's  certainly  raising  a  dust  up  north,"  said  Thorne. 
"  Every  paper  all  at  once  is  full  of  the  most  incendiary  stuff. 
I  hate  to  send  a  ranger  up  there  these  days." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  497 

"I  reckon  the  boys  can  take  care  of  themselves!"  put  in 
Ross  Fletcher. 

California  John  turned  to  look  at  him. 

"Sure  thing,  Ross,"  he  drawled,  "and  a  first-class  row 
between  a  brutal  ranger  —  who  could  take  care  of  himself  — 
and  an  inoffensive  citizen  would  read  fine  in  print." 

"That's  the  idea,"  approved  Thorne.  "We  can't  afford 
a  row  right  now.  It  would  bring  matters  to  a  head." 

"There's  the  Harris  case,  and  the  others,"  suggested  Amy; 
"what  are  you  going  to  do  about  them,  now?" 

"  Carry  them  through  according  to  my  instructions,  unless 
I  get  orders  to  the  contrary,"  said  Thorne.  "It  is  the 
policy  of  the  Service  throughout  to  clear  up  and  settle  these 
doubtful  land  cases.  We  must  get  such  things  decided. 
We  can't  stop  because  of  a  little  localized  popular  clamour." 

"  Are  there  many  such  cases  up  in  the  Durham  country  ?" 
asked  Bob. 

"Probably  a  dozen  or  so." 

"Isn't  it  likely  that  those  men  have  got  behind  Samuels 
in  order  to  discourage  action  on  their  own  cases?" 

"I  think  there's  no  doubt  of  it,"  answered  Thorne,  "but 
the  point  is,  they've  been  fighting  tooth  and  nail  from  the 
start.  Wre  had  felt  out  their  strength  from  the  first,  and 
it  developed  nothing  like  this." 

"That's  where  Erbe  comes  in,"  suggested  Bob. 

"Probably." 

"It  don't  amount  to  nothin',"  said  California  John.  "In 
the  first  place,  it's  only  the  'nesters,'*  the  saloon  crowd,  who 
are  after  you  for  Austin's  case;  and  the  usual  muck  of  old- 
timers  and  loafers  who  either  think  they  own  the  country  and 
ought  to  have  a  free  hand  in  everything  just  as  they're  used 
to,  or  who  are  agin  the  Government  on  general  principles. 
I  don't  believe  the  people  at  Durham  are  behind  this.  I 
bet  a  vote  would  give  us  a  majority  right  now." 

"Well,  the  majority  stays  in  the  house,  then,"  observed 

*  "Nester  "—  Western  term  meaning  squatters,  small  settlers —  generally  illegally  such. 


498  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Ross  Fletcher  drily.     "I  didn't  observe  none  of  them  when 
I  walked  down  the  street." 

"I  believe  with  John,"  said  Thome.  "This  crowd 
makes  an  awful  noise,  but  it  doesn't  mean  much.  The 
Office  cannot  fail  to  uphold  us.  There's  nobody  of  any 
influence  or  importance  behind  all  this." 

Nevertheless,  so  skilfully  was  the  campaign  conducted, 
pressure  soon  made  itself  felt  from  above.  The  usual 
memorials  and  largely-signed  protests  were  drawn  up  and 
presented  to  the  senators  from  California,  and  the  repre- 
sentatives of  that  and  neighbouring  districts.  Men  in  the 
employ  of  the  saloon  element  rode  actively  in  all  directions 
obtaining  signatures.  A  signature  to  anything  that  does  not 
carry  financial  obligation  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to 
get.  Hundreds  who  had  no  grievance,  and  who  listened 
with  the  facile  indignation  of  the  ignorant  to  the  represen- 
tations of  these  emissaries,  subscribed  their  names  as  voters 
and  constituents  to  a  cause  whose  merits  or  demerits  were 
quite  uncomprehended  by  them.  The  members  of  Con- 
gress receiving  these  memorials  immediately  set  them- 
selves in  motion.  As  Thome  could  not  officially  reply  to 
what  had  not  as  yet  been  officially  urged,  his  hands  were 
tied.  A  clamour  that  had  at  first  been  merely  noisy  and 
meaningless,  began  now  to  gain  an  effect. 

Thorne  confessed  himself  puzzled. 

"If  it  isn't  a  case  of  a  snowball  growing  bigger  the  farther 
it  rolls,  I  can't  account  for  it,"  said  he.  "This  thing  ought 
to  have  died  down  long  ago.  It's  been  fomented  very 
skilfully.  Such  a  campaign  as  this  one  against  us  takes 
both  ability  and  money  —  more  of  either  than  I  thought 
Samuels  could  possibly  possess." 

In  the  meantime,  Erbe  managed  rapidly  to  tie  up  the  legal 
aspects  of  the  situation.  The  case,  as  it  developed,  proved 
to  be  open-and-shut  against  his  client,  but  apparently 
unaffected  by  the  certainty  of  this,  he  persisted  in  the  inter- 
position of  all  sorts  of  delays.  Samuels  continued  to  live 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          499 

undisturbed  on  his  claim,  which,  as  Thorne  pointed  out, 
had  a  bad  moral  effect  on  the  community. 

The  issue  soon  took  on  a  national  aspect.  It  began  to  be? 
commented  on  by  outside  newspapers.  Publications  close 
to  the  administration  and  thoroughly  in  sympathy  with  its 
forest  policies,  began  gravely  to  doubt  the  advisability  of 
pushing  these  debatable  claims  at  present. 

"They  are  of  small  value,"  said  one,  "in  comparison  with 
the  large  public  domain  of  which  they  are  part.  At  a  time 
when  the  Forest  Service  is  new  in  the  saddle  and  as  yet  sub- 
jected to  the  most  violent  attacks  by  the  special  interests  on 
the  floors  of  Congress,  it  seems  unwise  to  do  anything  that 
might  tend  to  arouse  public  opinion  against  it." 

As  though  to  give  point  to  this,  there  now  commenced  in 
Congress  that  virulent  assault  led  by  some  of  the  Western 
senators,  aimed  at  the  very  life  of  the  Service  itself.  Allega- 
tions of  dishonesty,  incompetence,  despotism;  of  depriving 
the  public  of  its  heritage;  of  the  curtailments  of  rights  and 
liberties;  of  folly;  of  fraud  were  freely  brought  forward 
and  urged  with  impassioned  eloquence.  Arguments  special 
to  cattlemen,  to  sheepmen,  to  lumbermen,  to  cord  wood  men, 
to  pulp  men,  to  power  men  were  emphasized  by  all  sorts 
of  misstatements,  twisted  statements,  or  special  appeals  to 
greed,  personal  interest  and  individual  policy.  To  support 
their  eloquence,  senators  supposedly  respectable  did  not 
hesitate  boldly  to  utter  sweeping  falsehoods  of  fact.  The 
Service  was  fighting  for  its  very  life. 

Nevertheless,  persistently,  the  officials  proceeded  with 
their  investigations.  Bob  had  conducted  his  campaign 
so  skilfully  against  Samuels  that  Thorne  used  him  further 
in  similar  matters.  Little  by  little,  indeed,  the  young  man  was 
withdrawn  from  other  work.  He  now  spent  many  hours  with 
Amy  in  the  little  office  going  over  maps  and  files,  over  copies 
of  documents  and  old  records.  When  he  had  thoroughly 
mastered  the  ins  and  outs  of  a  case,  he  departed  with  his  pack 
animal  and  saddle  horse  to  look  the  ground  over  in  person. 


Soo          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Since  the  eclat  of  the  Samuels  case,  he  had  little  hope  of 
obtaining  relinquishments,  nor  did  he  greatly  care  to  do  so. 
A  relinquishment  saved  trouble  in  the  courts,  but  as  far 
as  avoiding  adverse  public  notice  went,  the  Samuels  affair 
showed  the  absolute  ineffectiveness  of  that  method.  But 
by  going  on  the  ground  he  was  enabled  to  see,  with  his  own 
eyes,  just  what  sort  of  a  claim  was  in  question,  the  improve- 
ments that  had  been  made  on  it,  the  value  both  to  the  claim- 
ant and  the  Government.  Through  an  interview  he  was  able 
to  gauge  the  claimant,  to  weigh  his  probable  motives  and 
the  purity  of  both  his  original  and  present  intentions.  A 
number  of  cases  thus  he  dropped,  and  that  on  no  other  than 
his  own  responsibility.  They  were  invariably  those  whose 
issue  in  the  courts  might  very  well  be  in  doubt,  so  that  it 
was  impossible  to  tell,  without  trying  them,  how  the  decision 
would  jump.  Furthermore,  and  principally,  he  was  always 
satisfied  that  the  claimant  had  meant  well  and  honestly 
throughout,  and  had  lapsed  through  ignorance,  bad  advice, 
or  merely  that  carelessness  of  the  letter  of  the  legal  form  so 
common  among  mountaineers.  Such  cases  were  far  more 
numerous  than  he  had  supposed.  The  men  had,  in  many 
instances,  come  into  the  country  early  in  its  development. 
They  had  built  their  cabins  by  the  nearest  meadow  that 
appealed  to  them;  for,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  the  country 
was  a  virgin  wilderness  whose  camping  sites  were  many 
and  open  to  the  first  comer.  Only  after  their  households 
had  been  long  established  as  squatters  did  these  pioneers 
awake  to  an  imperfect  understanding  that  further  formality 
was  required  before  these,  their  homes,  could  be  legally 
their  own.  Living  isolated  these  men,  even  then,  blundered 
in  their  applications  or  in  the  proving  up  of  their  claims. 
Such  might  be  legally  subject  to  eviction,  but  Bob  in  his 
recommendations  gave  them  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  and 
advised  that  full  papers  be  issued.  In  the  hurried  days  of 
the  Service  such  recommendations  of  field  inspectors  were 
often  considered  as  final. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          501 

There  were  other  cases,  however,  for  which  Bob's  sym- 
pathies were  strongly  enlisted,  but  which  presented  such 
flagrant  irregularities  of  procedure  that  he  could  not  con- 
sistently recommend  anything  but  a  court  test  of  the  rights 
involved.  To  this  he  added  a  personal  note,  going 
completely  into  details,  and  suggesting  a  way  out. 

And  finally,  as  a  third  class,  he  was  able,  as  in  Samuels's 
case,  to  declare  war  on  behalf  of  the  Government.  Men  who 
had  already  taken  up  all  the  timber  claims  to  which  they 
or  their  families  were  legally  entitled,  nevertheless  added 
an  alleged  homestead  to  the  lot.  Other  men  were  taking 
advantage  of  twists  and  interpretations  of  the  law  to  gain 
possession  of  desirable  tracts  of  land  still  included  in  the 
National  Forests.  These  men  knew  the  letter  of  the  law 
well  enough,  and  took  pains  to  conform  accurately  to  it. 
Their  lapses  were  of  intention.  The  excuses  were  many  - 
so-called  mineral  claims,  alleged  agricultural  land,  all  the 
exceptions  to  reservation  mentioned  in  the  law;  the  actual 
ends  aimed  at  were  two  —  water  rights  or  timber.  In  these 
cases  Bob  reported  uncompromisingly  against  the  granting 
of  the  final  papers.  Thousands  of  acres,  however,  had  been 
already  conveyed.  Over  these,  naturally,  he  had  no  juris- 
diction, but  he  kept  his  eyes  open,  and  accumulated  evidence 
which  might  some  day  prove  useful  in  event  of  a  serious 
effort  to  regain  those  lands  that  had  been  acquired  by 
provable  fraud. 

But  on  the  borderland  between  these  sharply  defined 
classes  lay  many  in  the  twilight  zone.  Bob,  without  know- 
ing it,  was  to  a  certain  extent  exercising  a  despotic  power. 
He  possessed  a  latitude  of  choice  as  to  which  of  these  involved 
land  cases  should  be  pushed  to  a  court  decision.  If  the  law 
were  to  be  strictly  and  literally  interpreted,  there  could  be 
no  doubt  but  that  each  and  every  one  of  these  numerous 
claimants  could  be  haled  to  court  to  answer  for  his  short- 
comings. But  that,  in  many  instances,  could  not  but  work 
an  unwarranted  hardship.  The  expenses  alone,  of  a  journey 


502          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

to  the  state  capital,  would  strain  to  the  breaking  point  the 
means  of  some  of  the  more  impecunious.  Insisting  on  the 
minutest  technicalities  would  indubitably  deprive  many  an 
honest,  well-meaning  homesteader  of  his  entire  worldly 
property.  It  was  all  very  well  to  argue  that  ignorance  of 
the  law  was  no  excuse;  that  it  is  a  man's  own  fault  if  he 
does  not  fulfill  the  simple  requirements  of  taking  up  public 
land.  As  a  matter  of  cold  fact,  in  such  a  situation  as  this, 
ignorance  is  an  excuse.  Legalizing  apart,  the  rigid  and 
invariable  enforcement  of  the  law  can  be  tyrannical.  Of 
course,  this  can  never  be  officially  recognized;  that  would 
shake  the  foundations.  But  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  the 
literal  and  universal  and  invariable  enforcement  of  the 
minute  letter  of  any  law,  no  matter  how  trivial,  for  the  space 
of  three  months  would  bring  about  a  mild  revolution.  As 
witness  the  sweeping  and  startling  effects  always  consequent 
on  an  order  from  headquarters  to  its  police  to  "enforce 
rigidly"-— for  a  time  —  some  particular  city  ordinance. 
Whether  this  is  a  fault  of  our  system  of  law,  or  a  defect 
inherent  in  the  absolute  logic  of  human  affairs,  is  a  matter 
for  philosophy  to  determine.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  powers 
that  enforce  law  often  find  themselves  on  the  horns  of  a 
dilemma.  They  must  take  their  choice  between  tyranny 
and  despotism. 

So,  in  a  mild  way,  Bob  had  become  a  despot.  That  is  to 
say,  he  had  to  decide  to  whom  a  broken  law  was  to  apply, 
and  to  whom  not,  and  this  without  being  given  any  touch- 
stone of  choice.  The  matter  rested  with  his  own  experience, 
knowledge  and  personal  judgment.  Fortunately  he  was  a 
beneficent  despot.  A  man  evilly  disposed,  like  Plant,  could 
have  worked  incalculable  harm  for  others  and  great  financial 
benefit  to  himself.  That  this  is  not  only  possible  but  inev- 
itable is  another  defect  of  law  or  system.  No  sane  man  for 
one  single  instant  believes  that  literal  enforcement  of  every 
law  at  all  times  is  either  possible  or  desirable.  No  sane  man 
for  one  single  instant  believes  that  the  law  can  be  excepted 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          503 

to  or  annulled  for  especial  occasions  without  undermining 
the  public  confidence  and  public  morals.-  Yet  where  is  the 
middle  ground? 

In  Bob's  capacity  as  beneficent  despot,  he  ran  against 
many  problems  that  taxed  his  powers.  It  was  easy  to  say 
that  Samuels,  having  full  intention  to  get  what  he  very  well 
knew  he  had  no  right  to  have,  and  for  acquiring  which  he 
had  no  excuse  save  that  others  were  allowed  to  do  likewise, 
should  be  proceeded  against  vigorously.  It  was  likewise 
easy  to  determine  that  Ward,  who  had  lived  on  his  mountain 
farm,  and  cultivated  what  he  could,  and  had  himself  made 
shakes  of  his  timber,  but  who  had  blundered  his  formal 
processes,  should  be  given  a  chance  to  make  good.  But 
what  of  the  doubtful  cases?  What  of  the  cases  wherein 
apparently  legality  and  equity  took  opposite  sides  ? 

Bob  had  adventures  in  plenty.  For  lack  of  a  better  system, 
he  started  at  the  north  end  and  worked  steadily  south, 
examining  with  patience  the  pedigree  of  each  and  every 
private  holding  within  the  confines  of  the  National  Forests. 
These  were  at  first  small  and  isolated.  Only  one  large  tract 
drew  his  attention,  that  belonging  to  old  Simeon  Wright  in 
the  big  meadows  under  Black  Peaks.  These  meadows, 
occupying  a  wide  plateau  grown  sparsely  with  lodgepole 
pine,  covered  perhaps  a  thousand  acres  of  good  grazing,  and 
were  held  legally,  but  without  the  shadow  of  equity,  by  the 
old  land  pirate  who  owned  so  much  of  California.  In  going 
over  both  the  original  records,  the  newer  geological  survey 
maps,  and  the  country  itself,  Bob  came  upon  a  discrepancy. 
He  asked  and  obtained  leave  for  a  resurvey.  This  deter- 
mined that  Wright's  early-day  surveyor  had  made  a  mistake 
—  no  extraordinary  matter  in  a  wild  country  so  remote  from 
base  lines.  Simeon's  holdings  were  actually  just  one  mile 
farther  north,  which  brought  them  to  the  top  of  a  bald  granite 
ridge.  His  title  to  this  was  indubitable;  but  the  broad  and 
valuable  meadows  belonged  still  to  the  Government.  As  the 
case  was  one  of  fact  merely,  Wright  had  no  opportunity  to 


504          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

contest,  or  to  exercise  his  undoubtedly  powerful  influence. 
The  affair  served,  however,  to  draw  Bob's  name  and  activities 
into  the  sphere  of  his  notice. 

Among  the  mountain  people  Bob  was  at  first  held  in  a 
distrust  that  sometimes  became  open  hostility.  He  received 
threats  and  warnings  innumerable.  The  Childs  boys  sent 
word  to  him,  and  spread  that  word  abroad,  that  if  this  govern- 
ment inspector  valued  his  life  he  would  do  well  to  keep 
off  Iron  Mountain.  Bob  promptly  saddled  his  horse,  rode 
boldly  to  the  Childs'  shake  camp,  took  lunch  with  them,  and 
rode  back,  speaking  no  word  either  of  business  or  of  threats. 
Having  occasion  to  take  a  meal  with  some  poor,  squalid 
descendants  of  hog-raising  Pike  County  Missourians,  he 
detected  a  queer  bitterness  to  his  coffee,  managed  unseen  to 
empty  the  cup  into  his  canteen,  and  later  found,  as  he  had 
suspected,  that  an  attempt  had  been  made  to  poison  him. 
He  rode  back  at  once  to  the  cabin.  Instead  of  taxing  the 
woman  with  the  deed  —  for  he  shrewdly  suspected  the  man 
knew  nothing  of  it  —  he  reproached  her  with  condemning 
him  unheard. 

"I'm  the  best  friend  you  people  have,"  said  -he.  "It  isn't 
my  fault  that  you  are  in  trouble  with  the  regulations.  The 
Government  must  straighten  these  matters  out.  Don't 
think  for  a  minute  that  the  work  will  stop  just  because  some- 
body gets  away  with  me.  They'll  send  somebody  else. 
And  the  chances  are,  in  that  case,  they'll  send  somebody  who 
is  instructed  to  stick  close  to  the  letter  of  the  law:  and  who 
will  turn  you  out  mighty  sudden.  I'm  trying  to  do  the  best 
I  can  for  you  people." 

This  family  ended  by  giving  him  its  full  confidence  in  the 
matter.  Bob  was  able  to  save  the  place  for  them. 

Gradually  his  refusal  to  take  offence,  his  refusal  to  debate 
any  matter  save  on  the  impersonal  grounds  of  the  Govern- 
ment servant  acting  solely  for  his  masters,  coupled  with  his 
willingness  to  take  things  into  consideration,  and  his  desire 
to  b€  absolutely  fair,  won  for  Bob  a  reluctant  confidence. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          505 

At  the  north  end  men's  minds  were  as  yet  too  inflamed. 
It  is  a  curious  matter  of  flock  psychology  that  if  the  public 
mind  ever  occupies  itself  fully  with  an  idea,  it  thereby  becomes 
for  the  time  being  blind,  impervious,  to  all  others.  But  in 
other  parts  of  the  mountains  Bob  was  not  wholly  unwelcome ; 
and  in  one  or  two  cases  —  which  pleased  him  mightily  — 
men  came  in  to  him  voluntarily  for  the  purpose  of  asking  his 
advice. 

In  the  meantime  the  Samuels  case  had  come  rapidly  to  a 
crisis.  The  resounding  agitation  had  resulted  in  the  send- 
ing of  inspectors  to  investigate  the  charges  against  the  local 
officials.  The  first  of  these  inspectors,  a  rather  precise 
and  formal  youth  fresh  from  Eastern  training,  was  easily 
handled  by  the  versatile  Erbe.  His  report,  voluminous  as 
a  tariff  speech,  and  couched  in  very  official  language, 
exonerated  Thorne  and  Orde  of  dishonesty,  of  course,  but 
it  emphasized  their  "lack  of  tact  and  business  ability,"  and 
condemned  strongly  their  attitude  in  the  Durham  matter. 
This  report  would  ordinarily  have  gone  no  farther  than  the 
district  office,  where  it  might  have  been  acted  on  by  the 
officers  in  charge  to  the  great  detriment  of  the  Service.  At 
that  time  the  evil  of  sending  out  as  inspectors  men  admirably 
trained  in  theory  but  woefully  lacking  in  practice  and  the 
knowledge  of  Western  humankind  was  one  of  the  great 
menaces  to  effective  personnel.  Fortunately  this  particular 
report  came  into  the  hands  of  the  Chief,  who  happened  to 
be  touring  in  the  West.  A  fuller  investigation  exposed  to 
the  sapient  experience  of  that  able  man  the  gullibility  of  the 
inspector.  From  the  district  a  brief  statement  was  issued 
upholding  the  local  administration. 

The  agitation,  thus  deprived  of  its  chief  hope,  might  very 
well  have  been  expected  to  simmer  down,  to  die  away  slowly. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  collapsed.  The  newspaper  attacks 
ceased;  the  public  meetings  were  discontinued;  the  saloons 
and  other  storm  centres  applied  their  powers  to  a  discussion 
of  the  Gans-Nelson  fight.  Samuels  was  very  briefly  declared 


506          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

a  trespasser  by  the  courts.  Erbe  disappeared  from  the  case. 
The  United  States  Marshal,  riding  up  with  a  posse  into  a 
supposedly  hostile  country,  found  no  opposition  to  his 
enforcement  of  the  court's  decree.  Only  old  Samuels  himself 
offered  an  undaunted  defence,  but  was  soon  dislodged  and 
led  away  by  men  who  half-pitied,  half- ridiculed  his  violence. 
The  sign  "  Property  of  the  U.  S. "  resumed  its  place.  Thorne 
made  of  the  ancient  homestead  a  ranger's  post. 

"It's  incomprehensible  as  a  genuine  popular  movement," 
said  he  on  one  of  Bob's  periodical  returns  to  headquarters. 
The  young  man  now  held  a  commission,  and  lived  with  the 
Thornes  when  at  home.  "The  opposition  up  there  was  so 
rabid  and  it  wilted  too  suddenly." 

"  'The  mutable  many,'  "  quoted  Amy. 

But  Thorne  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  as  though  they'd  pricked  a  balloon,"  said  he.  " They 
don't  love  us  up  there,  yet;  but  it's  no  worse  now  than  it 
used  to  be  here.  Last  week  it  was  actually  unsafe  on  the 
streets.  If  they  were  so  strong  for  Samuels  then,  why  not  now  ? 
A  mere  court  decision  could  not  change  their  minds  so  quickly. 
I  should  have  expected  the  real  bitterness  and  the  real  resist- 
ence  when  the  Marshal  went  up  to  put  the  old  man  off." 

"  That's  the  way  I  sized  it  up,"  admitted  Bob. 

"It's  as  if  somebody  had  turned  off  the  steam  and  the 
engine  quit  running,"  said  Thorne,  "and  for  that  reason 
I'm  more  than  ever  convinced  that  it  was  a  made  agitation. 
Samuels  was  only  an  excuse." 

"What  for?"  asked  Bob. 

"Struck  me  the  same  way,"  put  in  California  John. 
"Reminded  me  of  the  war.  Looked  like  they  held  onto 
this  as  a  sort  of  first  defence  as  long  as  they  could,  and  then 
just  abandoned  it  and  dropped  back." 

"That's  it,"  nodded  Thorne.  "That's  my  conclusion. 
Somebody  bigger  than  Samuels  fears  investigation;  and 
they  hoped  to  stop  our  sort  of  investigation  short  at  Samuels. 
Well,  they  haven't  succeeded." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  507 

Amy  arose  abruptly  and  ran  to  her  filing  cases. 

"That  ought  to  be  easily  determined,"  she  cried,  looking 
over  her  shoulder  with  shining  eyes.  "I  have  the  papers 
about  all  ready  for  the  whole  of  our  Forest.  Here's  a  list 
of  the  private  holdings,  by  whom  held,  how  acquired  and 
when."  She  spread  the  papers  out  on  the  table.  "Now 
let's  see  who  owns  lots  of  land,  and  who  is  powerful  enough 
to  enlist  senators,  and  who  would  fear  investigation." 

All  four  bent  over  the  list  for  a  few  moments.  Then 
Thorne  made  five  dots  with  his  pencil  opposite  as  many 
names. 

"All  the  rest  are  little  homesteaders,"  said  he.  "One  of 
these  must  be  our  villain." 

"Or  all  of  them,"  amended  California  John  drily. 


XVI 

THE  little  council  of  war  at  once  commenced  an  eager 
discussion  of  the  names  thus  indicated. 
"  There's  your  own  concern,  the  Wolverine  Com- 
pany,"   suggested   Thorne.     "What   do   you   know   about 
the  way  it  acquired  its  timber?" 

"  Acquired  in  1879,"  replied  Amy,  consulting  her  notes. 
"  Partly  from  the  Bank,  that  held  it  on  mortgage,  and 
partly  from  individual  owners." 

"Welton  is  no  crook,"  struck  in  Bob.  "Even  if  he'd 
strained  the  law,  which  I  doubt;  he  wouldn't  defend  himself 
at  this  late  date  with  any  method  as  indirect  as  this." 

"I  think  you're  right  on  the  last  point,"  agreed  Thorne. 
"Proceed." 

"Next  is  the  Marston  N.  Leavitt  firm." 

"  They  bought  their  timber  in  a  lump  from  a  broker  by  the 
name  of  Robinson;  and  Robinson  got  it  of  the  old  Joncal* 
Mill  outfit;  and  heaven  knows  where  they  got  it,"  put  in 
California  John. 

"How  long  ago?" 

"'84 —  the  last  transfer,"  said  Amy. 

"Doesn't  look  as  though  the  situation  ought  to  alarm 
them  to  immediate  and  violent  action,"  observed  Thorne. 
"Aren't  there  any  more  recent  claims?"  he  asked  Amy. 

"Here's  one;  the  Modoc  Mining  Company,  about  one 
thousand  mineral  claims,  amounting  to  approximately 
28,000  acres,  filed  1903." 

"That  looks  more  promising.  Patents  issued  in  the  reign 
of  our  esteemed  predecessor,  Plant." 

*  Pronounced  Hone-kal. 

508 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          509 

"Where  are  most  of  the  claims?"  asked  California  John. 

"  All  the  claims  are  in  the  same  place,"  replied  Amy. 

"The  Basin!"  said  Bob. 

Amy  recited  the  "descriptions"  within  whose  boundaries 
lay  the  bulk  of  the  claims. 

"That's  it,"  said  Bob. 

"Is  there  any  real  mineral  there?"  inquired  Thome. 

"Not  that  anybody  ever  heard  of,"  said  California  John, 
who  was  himself  an  old  miner;  "but  gold  is  where  you 
find  it,"  he  added  cautiously. 

"How's  the  timber?" 

"It's  the  best  stand  I've  seen  in  the  mountains,"  said  Bob. 

"Well,"  observed  Thorne,  "of  course  it  wouldn't  do  to 
say  so,  but  I  think  we've  run  against  the  source  of  our 
opposition  in  the  Samuels  case." 

"That  explains  Erbe's  taking  the  case,"  put  in  Bob; 
"he's  counsel  for  most  of  these  corporations." 

"The  fact  that  this  is  not  a  mineral  country,"  continued 
Thorne,  "together  with  the  additional  considerations  of  a 
thousand  claims  in  so  limited  an  area,  and  the  recent  date, 
makes  it  look  suspicious.  I  imagine  the  Modoc  Mining 
Company  intends  to  use  a  sawmill,  rather  more  than  a  stamp 
mill." 

"Who  are  they?"  asked  California  John. 

"We  must  find  that  out.  Also  we  must  ourselves  ascer- 
tain just  what  colour  of  mineral  there  is  over  there." 

"That  ought  to  be  on  the  records  somewhere  already," 
Amy  pointed  out. 

"Plant's  records,"  said  Thorne  drily. 

"  I'm  ashamed  to  say  I  haven't  looked  up  the  mineral  lands 
act,"  confessed  Bob.  "How  did  they  do  it?" 

"Well,  it's  simple  enough.  The  company  made  appli- 
cation under  the  law  that  allows  mineral  land  in  National 
Forests  to  be  'freely  prospected,  located,  developed  and 
patented.'  It  is  necessary  to  show  evidence  of  'valuable 
deposits'  '* 


510          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Gold  and  silver?" 

"Not  necessarily.  It  may  be  even  building  stone,  or  fine 
clay,  limestone  or  slate.  Then  it's  up  to  the  Forest  Officer 
to  determine  whether  the  deposits  are  actually  'valuable' 
or  not.  You  can  drive  a  horse  and  cart  through  the  law; 
and  it's  strictly  up  to  the  Forest  Officer  —  or  has  been  in  the 
past.  If  he  reports  the  deposits  valuable,  and  on  that  report 
a  patent  is  issued,  why  that  settles  it." 

"Even  if  the  mineral  is  a  fake?" 

"  A  patent  is  a  patent.  The  time  to  head  off  the  fraud  is 
when  the  application  is  made." 

"  Cannot  the  title  be  upset  if  fraud  is  clearly  proved?" 

"I  do  not  see  how,"  replied  Thorne.  "Plant  is  dead. 
The  law  is  very  liberal.  Predetermining  the  value  of  mineral 
deposits  is  laigely  a  matter  of  personal  judgment.  The 
company  could,  as  we  have  seen,  bring  an  enormous  influ- 
ence to  bear." 

"Well,"  said  Bob,  "that  land  will  average  sixty  thousand 
feet  to  the  acre.  That's  about  a  billion  and  a  half  feet.  It's 
a  big  stake." 

"If  the  company  wasn't  scared,  why  did  they  try  so  hard 
to  head  us  off?"  observed  California  John  shrewdly. 

"It  will  do  us  no  harm  to  investigate,"  put  in  Bob,  his 
eye  kindling  with  eagerness.  "  It  won't  take  long  to  examine 
the  indications  those  claims  are  based  on." 

"It's  a  ticklish  period,"  objected  Thorne.  "I  hate  to 
embarrass  the  Administration  with  anything  ill-timed.  We 
have  much  to  do  straightening  out  what  we  now  have  on 
hand.  You  must  remember  we  are  short  of  men;  we  can't 
spare  many  now." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  suggested  Amy.  "Put  it  up  to  the  Chief. 
Tell  him  just  how  the  matter  stands.  Let  him  decide." 

"All  right;  I'll  do  that,"  agreed  Thorne. 

In  due  time  the  reply  came.  It  advised  circumspection 
in  the  matter;  but  commanded  a  full  report  on  the  facts. 
Time  enough,  the  Chief  wrote,  to  decide  on  the  course  to  be 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          511 

pursued  when  the  case  should  be  established  in  their  own 
minds. 

Accordingly  Thorne  detached  Bob  and  Ware  to  investi- 
gate the  mineral  status  of  the  Basin.  The  latter's  long 
experience  in  prospecting  now  promised  to  stand  the  Service 
in  good  stead. 

The  two  men  camped  in  the  Basin  for  three  weeks,  until 
the  close  of  which  time  they  saw  no  human  being.  During 
this  period  they  examined  carefully  the  various  ledges  on 
which  the  mineral  claims  had  been  based.  Ware  pro- 
nounced them  valueless,  as  far  as  he  could  judge. 

"Some  of  them  are  just  ordinary  quartz  dikes,"  said  he. 
"I  suppose  they  claim  gold  for  them.  There's  nothing  in 
it;  or  if  this  does  warrant  a  man  developing,  then  every 
citizen  who  lives  near  rock  has  a  mine  in  his  back  yard." 

Nevertheless  he  made  his  reports  as  detailed  as  possible. 
In  the  meantime  Bob  accomplished  a  rough,  or  "cruiser's" 
estimate  of  the  timber. 

As  has  been  said,  they  found  the  Basin  now  quite  deserted. 
The  trail  to  Sycamore  Flats  had  apparently  not  been  travelled 
since  George  Pollock  had  ridden  down  it  to  give  himself 
up  to  authority.  Their  preliminary  labours  finished,  the 
two  Forest  officers  packed,  and  were  on  the  very  point  of 
turning  up  the  steep  mountain  side  toward  the  lookout, 
when  two  horsemen  rode  over  the  flat  rock. 

Naturally  Bob  and  Ware  drew  up,  after  the  mountain 
custom,  to  exchange  greetings.  As  the  others  drew  nearer, 
Bob  recognized  in  one  the  slanting  eyeglasses,  the  close- 
clipped,  gray  moustache  and  the  keen,  cold  features  of  Old- 
ham.  Ware  nodded  at  the  other  man,  who  returned  his 
salutation  as  curtly. 

"You're  off  your  beat,  Mr.  Oldham,"  observed  Bob. 

"I'm  after  a  deer,"  replied  Oldham.  "You  are  a  little 
off  your  own  beat,  aren't  you?" 

"My  beat  is  everywhere,"  replied  Bob  carelessly. 

"What  devilment  you  up  to  now,  Sal?"  Ware  was  asking 


512          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

of  the  other  man,  a  tall,  loose- jointed,  freckle-faced  and 
red-haired  individual  with  an  evil  red  eye. 

"I'm  earnin'  my  salary;  and  I  misdoubt  you  ain't," 
sneered  the  individual  thus  addressed. 

"As  what;  gun  man?"  demanded  Ware  calmly. 

"You  may  find  that  out  sometime." 

"I'm  not  as  easy  as  young  Franklin  was,"  said  Ware, 
dropping  his  hand  carelessly  to  his  side.  "Don't  make  any 
mistakes  when  you  get  around  to  your  demonstration." 

The  man  said  nothing,  but  grinned,  showing  tobacco- 
stained,  irregular  teeth  beneath  his  straggling,  red  moustache. 

After  a  moment's  further  conversation  the  little  groups 
separated.  Bob  rode  on  up  the  trail.  Ware  followed  for 
perhaps  ten  feet,  or  until  out  of  sight  behind  the  screen  of 
willows  that  bordered  the  stream.  Then,  without  drawing 
rein,  he  dropped  from  his  saddle.  The  horse,  urged  by  a 
gentle  slap  on  the  rump,  followed  in  the  narrow  trail  after 
Bob  and  the  pack  animal.  Ware  slipped  quietly  through 
the  willows  until  he  had  gained  a  point  commanding  the 
other  trail.  Oldham  and  his  companion  were  riding  peace- 
fully. Satisfied,  Ware  returned,  climbed  rapidly  until  he 
had  caught  up  with  his  horse,  and  resumed  his  saddle. 
Bob  had  only  that  moment  noticed  his  absence. 

"Look  here,  Bob,"  said  Ware,  "that  fellow  with  Mr. 
Oldham  is  a  man  called  Saleratus  Bill.  He's  a  hard  citizen, 
a  gun  man,  and  brags  of  eleven  killin's  in  his  time.  Mr. 
Oldham  or  no  one  else  couldn't  pick  up  a  worse  citizen  to  go 
deer  hunting  with.  When  you  track  up  with  him  next,  be 
sure  that  he  starts  and  keeps  going  before  you  stir  out  of 
your  tracks." 

"You  don't  believe  that  deer  hunting  lie,  do  you?"  asked 
Bob. 

Ware  chuckled. 

"I  was  wondering  if  you  did,"  said  he. 

"I  guess  there's  no  doubt  as  to  who  the  Modoc  Mining 
Company  is." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          513 

"Oldham?" 

"No,"  said  Bob;  " Baker  and  the  Power  Company.  Old- 
ham  is  Baker's  man." 

Ware  whistled. 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  know  what  you're  talking  about," 
said  he,  "but  it's  pretty  generally  understood  that  Oldham 
is  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence.  He's  been  bucking  Baker 
in  White  Oaks  on  some  franchise  business.  Everybody 
knows  that." 

Bob  opened  his  eyes.  Casting  his  mind  back  over  the 
sources  of  his  information,  he  then  remembered  that  inti- 
mation of  the  connection  between  the  two  men  had  come  to 
him  when  he  had  been  looked  on  as  a  member  of  the  inner 
circle,  so  that  all  things  were  talked  of  openly  before  him; 
that  since  Plant's  day  Oldham  had  in  fact  never  appeared 
in  Baker's  interests. 

"He's  up  in  this  country  a  good  deal,"  Bob  observed 
finally.  "What's  he  say  is  his  business?" 

"Why,  he's  in  a  little  timber  business,  as  I  understand  it; 
and  he  buys  a  few  cattle  —  sort  of  general  brokerage." 

"I  see,"  mused  Bob. 

He  rode  in  silence  for  some  time,  breathing  his  horse 
mechanically  every  fifty  feet  or  so  of  the  steep  trail.  He 
was  busily  recalling  and  piecing  together  the  fragments  of 
what  he  had  at  the  time  considered  an  unimportant  dis- 
cussion, and  which  he  had  in  part  forgotten. 

"It's  a  blind,"  he  said  at  last;  "Oldham  is  working  for 
Baker." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?" 

"Something  I  heard  once." 

He  rode  on.  The  Basin  was  dropping  away  beneath 
them;  the  prospect  to  the  north  was  broadening  as  peak 
after  peak  raised  itself  into  the  line  of  ascending  vision. 
The  pines,  clinging  to  the  steep,  cast  bars  of  shadow  across 
the  trail,  which  zigzagged  and  dodged,  taking  advantage 
of  every  ledge  and  each  strip  of  firm  earth.  Occasionally 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

they  crossed  a  singing  brook,  shaded  with  willows  and 
cottonwoods,  with  fragrant  bay  and  alders,  only  to  clamber 
out  again  to  the  sunny  steeps. 

Now  Bob  remembered  and  pieced  together  the  whole. 
Baker  had  been  bragging  that  he  intended  to  pay  nothing 
to  the  Government  for  his  water  power.  Bob  could  almost 
remember  the  very  words.  "  'They've  swiped  about  every- 
thing in  sight  for  these  pestiferous  reserves,'  "  he  murmured 
to  himself,  "  'but  they  encourage  the  honest  prospector. 
.  .  .  Oldham's  got  the  whole  matter  .  .  .  ' "  and 
so  on,  in  the  unfolding  of  the  very  scheme  by  which  these 
acres  had  been  acquired.  "Near  headwaters,"  he  had  said; 
and  that  statement,  combined  with  the  fact  that  nothing 
had  occurred  to  stir  indistinct  memories,  had  kept  Bob  in 
the  dark.  At  the  time  "near  headwaters"  had  meant  to 
him  the  tract  of  yellow  pine  near  the  head  of  Sycamore 
Creek.  So  he  had  dismissed  the  matter.  Now  he  saw 
clearly  that  a  liberal  construction  could  very  well  name  the 
Basin  as  the  headwaters  of  the  drainage  system  from  which 
Sycamore  Creek  drew,  if  not  its  source,  at  least  its  main 
volume  of  water.  He  exclaimed  aloud  in  disgust  at  his 
stupidity;  which,  nevertheless,  as  all  students  of  psychology 
know,  typified  a  very  common  though  curious  phenomenon 
in  the  mental  world.  Suddenly  he  sat  up  straight  in  his 
saddle.  Here,  should  Baker  and  the  Modoc  Mining 
Company  prove  to  be  one  and  the  same,  was  the  evidence 
of  fraudulent  intent!  Would  his  word  suffice?  Painfully 
reconstructing  the  half-forgotten  picture,  he  finally  placed 
the  burly  figure  of  Welton.  Welton  was  there  too.  His 
corroboration  would  make  the  testimony  irrefutable. 

Certainties  now  rushed  to  Bob's  mind  in  flocks.  If  he 
had  been  stupid  in  the  matter,  it  was  evident  that  Baker 
and  Oldham  had  not.  The  fight  in  Durham  was  now 
explained.  All  the  demagogic  arousing  of  the  populace, 
the  heavy  guns  brought  to  bear  in  the  newspaper  world,  the 
pressure  exerted  through  political  levers,  even  the  con- 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          515 

certed  attacks  on  the  Service  from  the  floors  of  Congress 
traced,  by  no  great  stretch  of  probabilities,  to  the  efforts  of 
the  Power  Company  to  stop  investigation  before  it  should 
reach  their  stealings.  That,  as  California  John  had  said, 
was  the  first  defence.  If  all  investigation  could  be  called  off, 
naturally  Baker  was  safe.  Now  that  he  realized  the 
investigation  must,  in  the  natural  course  of  events,  come  to 
his  holdings,  what  would  be  his  second  line  ? 

Of  course,  he  knew  that  Bob  possessed  the  only  testimony 
that  could  seriously  damage  him.  Even  Thome's  optimism 
had  realized  the  difficulties  of  pressing  to  a  conviction 
against  such  powerful  interests  without  some  evidence  of  a 
fraudulent  intent.  Could  it  be  that  the  presence  of  this 
Saleratus  Bill  in  company  with  Oldham  meant  that  Baker 
was  contemplating  so  sinister  a  removal  of  damaging 
testimony  ? 

A  moment's  thought  disabused  him  of  this  notion,  how- 
ever. Baker  was  not  the  man  to  resort  to  violence  of  this 
sort;  or  at  least  he  would  not  do  so  before  exhausting  all 
other  means.  Bob  had  been,  in  a  way,  the  capitalist's 
friend.  Surely,  before  turning  a  gun  man  loose,  Baker 
would  have  found  out  definitely  whether,  in  the  first  place, 
Bob  was  inclined  to  push  the  case;  and  secondly,  whether 
he  could  not  be  persuaded  to  refrain  from  introducing  his 
personal  testimony.  The  longer  Bob  looked  at  the  state  of 
affairs,  the  more  fantastic  seemed  the  hypothesis  that  the 
gun  man  had  been  brought  into  the  country  for  such  a 
purpose. 

"  Why  do  you  suppose  Oldham  is  up  there  with  this  Saler- 
atus Bill?"  he  asked  Ware  at  length. 

"Search  me!" 

"Is  Bill  good  for  anything  beside  gun  work?" 

"Well,"  said  Ware,  judicially,  "he  sure  drinks  without 
an  effort." 

"  I  don't  believe  Oldham  is  interested  in  the  liquor  famine,'* 
laughed  Bob.  "Anything  else?" 


5i 6          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"They  may  be  after  deer,"  acknowledged  Ware,  reluct- 
antly, "though  I  hate  to  think  that  rattlesnake  is  out  for 
anything  legitimate.  I  will  say  he's  a  good  hunter;  and  an 
Ai  trailer." 

"Oh,  he's  a  good  trailer,  is  he?"  said  Bob.  "Well,  I 
rather  suspected  you'd  say  that.  Now  I  know  why  they're  up 
there;  they  want  to  figure  out  from  the  signs  we've  left  just 
what  we've  been  up  to." 

"That's  easy  done,"  remarked  Ware. 

This  explanation  fitted.  Bob  had  been  in  the  Basin 
before,  but  on  the  business  of  estimating  government  timber. 
Baker  knew  this.  Now  that  the  Forest  officer  had  gone  in 
for  a  second  time,  it  might  be  possible  that  he  was  doing  the 
same  thing;  or  it  might  be  equally  possible  that  he  was 
engaged  in  an  investigation  of  Baker's  own  property.  This 
the  power  man  had  decided  to  find  out.  Therefore  he  had 
sent  in,  with  his  land  man,  an  individual  expert  at  deducing 
from  the  half-obliterated  marks  of  human  occupation  the 
activities  that  had  left  them.  That  Oldham  and  his  sinister 
companion  had  encountered  the  Forest  men  was  a  sheer 
accident  due  to  miscalculation. 

Having  worked  this  out  to  his  own  satisfaction,  Bob 
knew  what  next  to  expect.  Baker  must  interview  him. 
Bob  was  sure  the  young  man  would  take  his  own  time  to 
the  matter,  for  naturally  it  would  not  do  to  make  the  fact 
of  such  a  meeting  too  public.  Accordingly  he  submitted 
his  report  to  Thorne,  and  went  on  about  his  further  investi- 
gations, certain  that  sooner  or  later  he  would  again  see  the 
prime  mover  of  all  these  dubious  activities. 

He  was  not  in  the  least  surprised,  therefore,  to  look  up 
when  riding  one  day  along  the  lonely  and  rugged  trail  that 
cuts  across  the  lower  canon  of  the  River,  to  see  Baker 
seated  on  the  top  of  a  round  boulder.  The  incongruity, 
however,  brought  a  smile  to  his  lips.  The  sight  of  the  round, 
smooth  face,  the  humorous  eyes,  and  the  stout,  city-fed 
figure  of  this  very  urban  individual  on  a  rock  in  a  howling 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          517 

wilderness,  with  the  eternal  mountains  for  a  background, 
was  inexpressibly  comical. 

"Hullo,  merry  sunshine!"  called  Baker,  waving  his  hand 
as  soon  as  he  was  certain  Bob  had  seen  him.  "Welcome  to 
our  thriving  little  hamlet." 

"Hullo,  Baker,"  said  Bob;  "what  are  you  doing  'way  off 
here?" 

"Just  drifting  down  the  Grand  Canal  and  listening  to 
the  gondoliers;  and  incidentally,  waiting  for  you.  Climb 
off  your  horse  and  come  up  here  and  get  a  tailor-made 
cigarette." 

"I'm  on  my  way  over  to  Spruce  Top,"  said  Bob,  "and 
I've  got  to  keep  moving." 

"Haste  not,  hump  not,  hustle  not,"  said  Baker,  with  the 
air  of  one  quoting  a  hand-illuminated  motto.  "It  will 
only  get  you  somewhere.  Come,  gentle  stranger,  I  would 
converse  with  thee;  and  I've  come  a  long  way  to  do  it." 

"I  live  nearer  home  than  this,"  grinned  Bob. 

"I  wanted  to  see  you  in  your  office,"  grinned  back  Baker 
appreciatively,  "and  this  is  strictly  business." 

Bob  dismounted,  threw  the  reins  over  his  horse's  head, 
and  ascended  to  the  top  of  the  boulder. 

"Fire  ahead,"  said  he;  "I  keep  union  hours." 


XVII 

UNION  hours  suit  me,"  said  Baker.  "Why  work 
while  papa  has  his  health  ?  What  I  want  to  know  is, 
how  high  is  the  limit  on  this  game  anyway?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"This  confounded  so-called  'investigation'  of  yours? 
In  other  words,  do  you  intend  to  get  after  me?" 

"As  how?" 

Baker's  shrewd  eyes  looked  at  him  gravely  from  out  his 
smiling  fat  face. 

"Modoc  Mining  Company's  lands." 

"Then  you  are  the  Modoc  Mining  Company?"  asked 
Bob. 

Baker  eyed  him  again. 

"Look  here,  my  angel  child,"  said  he  in  a  tone  of  good- 
humoured  pity,  "  I  can  make  all  that  kind  of  talk  in  a  witness 
box  —  if  necessary.  In  any  case,  I  didn't  come  'way  out  here 
to  exchange  that  sort  with  you.  You  know  perfectly  well 
I'm  the  Modoc  Mining  Company,  and  that  I've  got  a  fine 
body  of  timber  under  the  mineral  act,  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 
You  know  ail  this  not  only  because  you've  got  some  sense, 
but  because  I  told  you  so  before  a  competent  witness.  It 
stands  to  reason  that  I  don't  mind  telling  you  again  where 
there  are  no  witnesses.  Now  smoke  up  and  join  the  King's 
Daughters  —  let's  have  a  heart-to-heart  and  find  out  how 
we  stand." 

Bob  laughed,  and  Baker,  with  entirely  whole-hearted  enjoy- 
ment, laughed  too. 

"You're  next  on  the  list,"  said  Bob,  "and,  personally,  I 
think " 

518 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          519 

Baker  held  up  his  hand. 

"Let's  not  exchange  thinks,"  said  he.  "I've  got  a  few 
thinks  coming  myself,  you  know.  Let's  stick  to  facts. 
Then  the  Government  is  going  to  open  up  on  us?'*' 

"Yes." 

"On  the  grounds  of  fraudulent  entry,  I  suppose." 

"That's  it." 

"Well,  they'll  never  win " 

"Let's  not  exchange  thinks,"  Bob  reminded  him. 

"  Right !  I  can  see  that  you're  acting  under  orders,  and  the 
suit  must  be  brought.  Now  I  tell  you  frankly,  as  one  Mod- 
ern Woods-pussy  of  the  World  to  another,  that  you're  the 
only  fellow  that  has  any  real  testimony.  What  I  want  to 
know  is,  are  you  going  to  use  it?" 

Bob  looked  at  his  companion  steadily. 

"I  don't  see  why,  even  without  witnesses,  I  should  give 
away  government  plans  to  you,  Baker." 

Baker  sighed,  and  slid  from  the  boulder. 

"I'm  practically  certain  how  the  cat  jumps,  and  I've  long 
since  made  my  plans  accordingly.  Whatever  you  say  does 
not  alter  my  course  of  action.  Only  I  hate  to  do  a  man  an 
injustice  without  being  sure.  You  needn't  answer.  Your 
last  remark  means  that  you  are.  I  have  too  much  sense  to  do 
the  little  Eva  to  you,  Orde.  You've  got  the  gray  stuff  in  your 
head,  even  if  it  is  a  trifle  wormy.  Of  course,  it's  no  good 
telling  you  that  you're  going  back  on  a  friend,  that  you'll  be 
dragging  Welton  into  the  game  when  he  hasn't  got  a  chip  to 
enter  with,  that  you're  betraying  private  confidence  —  well, 
I  guess  the  rest  is  all  'thinks." 

"I'm  sorry,  Baker,"  said  Bob,  "and  I  suppose  I  must 
appear  to  be  a  spy  in  the  matter.  But  it  can't  be  helped." 

Baker's  good-humoured,  fat  face  had  fallen  into  grave 
lines.  He  studied  a  distant  spruce  tree  for  a  moment. 

"Well,"  he  roused  himself  at  last,  "I  wish  this  particular 
attack  of  measles  had  passed  off  before  you  bucked  up  against 
us.  Because,  you  know,  that  land's  ours,  and  we  don't 


520          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

expect  to  give  it  up  on  account  of  this  sort  of  fool  agitation. 
We'll  win  this  case.  I'm  sorry  you're  mixed  up  in  it." 

"Saleratus  Bill?"  hinted  Bob. 

Baker's  humorous  expression  returned. 

"What  do  you  take  me  for?"  he  grinned.  "No,  that's 
Oldham's  bodyguard.  Thinks  he  needs  a  bodyguard  these 
days.  That's  what  comes  from  having  a  bad  conscience,  I 
tell  him.  Some  of  those  dagoes  he's  sold  bum  farms  to  are 
more  likely  to  show  up  with  a  desire  to  abate  him,  than  that 
anything  would  happen  to  him  in  these  hills.  Now  let's 
get  this  straight;  the  cases  go  on?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  testify?" 

"Yes." 

"And  call  Welton  in  for  corroboration?" 

"I  hardly  think  that's  necessary." 

"It  will  be,  as  you  very  well  know.  I  just  wanted  to  be 
sure  how  we  stood  toward  each  other.  So  long." 

He  turned  uncompromisingly  away,  and  stumped  off  down 
the  trail  on  his  fat  and  sturdy  legs. 

Bob  looked  after  him  amazed,  at  this  sudden  termination 
of  the  interview.  He  had  anticipated  argument,  sophistry, 
appeal  to  old  friendship,  perhaps  a  more  dark  and  doubtful 
approach.  Though  conscious  throughout  of  Baker's  con- 
tempt for  what  the  promoter  would  call  his  childish  imprac- 
ticability, his  disloyalty  and  his  crankiness,  Bob  realized  that 
all  of  this  had  been  carefully  subdued.  Baker's  manner  at 
parting  expressed  more  of  regret  than  of  anger  or  annoyance. 


XVIII 

TO  this  short  and  inconclusive  interview,  however, 
Baker  did  not  fail  to  add  somewhat  through  Oldham. 
The  agent  used  none  of  the  circumspection  Baker 
had  considered  necessary,  but  rode  openly  into  camp  and 
asked  for  Bob.  The  latter,  remembering  Oldham's  reputed 
antagonism  to  Baker,  could  not  but  admire  the  convenience 
of  the  arrangement.  The  lank  and  sinister  figure  of  Saler- 
atus  Bill  was  observed  to  accompany  that  of  the  land  agent, 
but  the  gun  man,  at  a  sign  from  his  principal,  did  not  dis- 
mount. He  greeted  no  one,  but  sat  easily  across  his  saddle, 
holding  the  reins  of  both  horses  in  his  left  hand,  his  jaws 
working  slowly,  his  evil,  little  eyes  wandering  with  sardonic 
interest  over  the  people  and  belongings  at  headquarters.  Ware 
nodded  to  him.  The  man's  eyes  half  closed  and  for  an  instant 
the  motion  of  his  jaw  quickened.  Otherwise  he  made  no  sign. 

Oldham  drew  Bob  one  side. 

"I  want  to  talk,  to  you  where  we  won't  be  interrupted," 
he  requested. 

"Talk  on,"  said  Bob,  seating  himself  on  a  log.  "The 
open  is  as  good  a  place  as  another;  you  can  see  your  eaves- 
droppers there." 

Oldham  considered  this  a  moment,  then  nodded  his  head, 
and  took  his  place  by  the  young  man's  side. 

"It's  about  those  Modoc  lands,"  said  he. 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Bob. 

"Mr.  Baker  tells  me  you  fully  intend  to  prosecute  a  suit 
for  their  recovery." 

"I  believe  the  Government  intends  to  do  so.  I  am,  of  course, 
only  the  agent  of  the  Government  in  this  or  any  other  matter. " 

5" 


522          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"In  other  words,  you  have  received  orders  to  proceed ?" 

" I  would  hardly  be  acting  without  them,  would  I?" 

"  Of  course;  I  see.  Mr.  Baker  is  sometimes  hasty.  Assum- 
ing that  you  cared  to  do  so,  is  there  no  way  you  could  avoid 
this  necessity  ?" 

"  None  that  I  can  discover.  I  must  obey  orders  as  long  as 
I'm  a  government  officer." 

"Exactly,"  said  Oldham.  "Now  we  reach  the  main 
issue.  What  if  you  were  not  a  government  officer?" 

"But  I  am." 

"Assume  that  you  were  not." 

"Naturally  my  successor  would  carry  out  the  same  orders." 

"But,"  suggested  Oldham,  "it  might  very  well  be  that 
another  man  would  not  be  —  well,  quite  so  qualified  to  carry 
out  the  case " 

"You  mean  I'm  the  only  one  who  heard  Baker  say  he  was 
going  to  cheat  the  Government,"  put  in  Bob  bluntly. 

"You  and  Mr.  Welton  and  Mr.  Baker  were  the  only  ones 
present  at  a  certain  interview,"  he  amended.  "Now,  in 
the  event  that  you  were  not  personally  in  charge  of  the  case 
would  you  feel  it  necessary  to  volunteer  testimony  unsus- 
pected by  anybody  but  you  three?" 

"  If  I  were  to  resign,!  should  volunteer  nothing,"  stated  Bob. 

Oldham's  frosty  eyes  gleamed  with  satisfaction  behind 
their  glasses. 

"That's  good!  "he  cried. 

"But  I  have  no  intention  of  resigning,"  Bob  concluded. 

"That  is  a  matter  open  to  discussion,"  Oldham  took  him 
up.  "There  are  a  great  many  reasons  that  you  have  not 
yet  considered." 

"I'm  ready  to  hear  them,"  said  Bob. 

"Look  at  the  case  as  it  stands.  In  the  first  place,  you 
cannot  but  admit  that  Mr.  Baker  and  the  men  associated  with 
him  have  done  great  things  for  this  country.  When  they 
came  into  it,  it  was  an  undeveloped  wilderness,  supplying 
nothing  of  value  to  civilization,  and  supporting  only  a  scat- 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          523 

tered  and  pastoral  people.  The  valley  towns  went  about 
their  business  on  horse  cars;  they  either  paid  practically  a 
prohibitive  price  for  electricity  and  gas,  or  used  oil  and 
candles;  they  drank  well  water  and  river  water.  The  sur- 
rounding country  was  either  a  desert  given  over  to  sage  brush 
and  jack  rabbits,  or  raised  crops  only  according  to  the 
amount  of  rain  that  fell.  You  can  have  no  conception,  Mr. 
Orde,  of  the  condition  of  the  country  in  some  of  these 
regions  before  irrigation.  In  place  of  this  the  valley  people 
now  enjoy  rapid  transportation,  not  only  through  the  streets 
of  their  towns,  but  also  by  trolley  lines  far  out  in  all  direc- 
tions. They  have  cheap  and  abundant  electric  light  and 
power.  They  possess  pure  drinking  water.  Above  all  they 
raise  their  certain  crops  irrespective  of  what  rains  the  heavens 
may  send." 

Bob  admitted  that  electricity  and  irrigation  are  good  things. 

"These  advantages  have  drawn  people.  I  am  not  going 
to  bore  you  with  a  lot  of  statistics,  but  the  population  of  all 
White  Oaks  County,  for  instance,  is  now  above  fifty  thousand 
people,  where  before  was  a  scant  ten.  But  how  much  agri- 
cultural wealth  do  you  suppose  these  people  export  each  year  ? 
Not  how  much  they  produce,  but  their  net  exportations  ?  " 

"  Give  it  up." 

"Fifty  million  dollars  worth!  That's  a  marvellous  per 
capita." 

"It  is  indeed,"  said  Bob. 

"Now,"  said  Oldham  impressively,  "that  wealth  would 
be  absolutely  non-existent,  that  development  could  not 
have  taken  place,  did  not  take  place,  until  men  of  Mr. 
Baker's  genius  and  courage  came  along  to  take  hold.  I  have 
personally  the  greatest  admiration  for  Mr.  Baker  as  a  type  of 
citizen  without  whom  our  resources  and  possibilities  would 
be  in  the  same  backward  condition  as  obtains  in  Canada." 

"  I'm  with  you  there,"  said  Bob. 

"  Mr.  Baker  has  added  a  community  to  the  state,  cities  to 
the  commonwealth,  millions  upon  millions  of  dollars  to  the 


524          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

nation's  wealth.  He  took  long  chances,  and  he  won  out. 
Do  not  you  think  in  return  the  national  resources  should  in 
a  measure  reward  him  for  the  advantages  he  has  conferred 
and  the  immense  wealth  he  has  developed?  Mind  you,  Mr. 
Baker  has  merely  taken  advantage  of  the  strict  letter  of 
the  law.  It  is  merely  open  to  another  interpretation.  He 
needs  this  particular  body  of  timber  for  the  furtherance  of  one 
of  his  greatest  quasi-public  enterprises;  and  who  has  a  better 
right  in  the  distribution  of  the  public  domain  than  the  man 
who  uses  it  to  develop  the  country?  The  public  land  has 
always  been  intended  for  the  development  of  resources,  and 
has  always  been  used  as  such.'' 

Oldham  talked  fluently  and  well.  He  argued  at  length 
along  the  lines  set  forth  above. 

"  You  have  to  use  lubricating  oil  to  overcome  friction  on  a 
machine,"  he  concluded.  "You  have  to  subsidize  a  railroad 
by  land  grants  to  enter  a  new  country.  By  the  same  immut- 
able law  you  must  offer  extraordinary  inducements  to  extraor- 
dinary men.  Otherwise  they  will  not  take  the  risks.'* 

"I've  nothing  to  do  with  the  letter  of  the  law,"  Bob  replied; 
"only  with  its  spirit  and  intention.  The  main  idea  of  the 
mineral  act  is  to  give  legitimate  miners  the  timber  they  need 
for  legitimate  mining.  Baker  does  not  pretend,  except  offi- 
cially, that  he  ever  intends  to  do  anything  with  his  claims. 
He  certainly  has  done  a  great  work  for  the  country.  I'll 
agree  to  everything  you  say  there.  But  he  came  into  Cali- 
fornia worth  nothing,  and  he  is  now  reputed  to  be  worth 
ten  millions  and  to  control  vast  properties.  That  would 
seem  to  be  reward  enough  for  almost  anybody.  He  does 
not  need  this  Basin  property  for  any  of  his  power  projects, 
except  that  its  possession  would  let  him  off  from  paying  a 
very  reasonable  tax  on  the  waterpower  he  has  been  accus- 
tomed to  getting  free.  Cutting  that  timber  will  not  develop 
the  country  any  further.  I  don't  see  the  value  of  your  argu- 
ment in  the  present  case." 

"Mr.  Baker  has  invested  in  this  project  a  great  many  mil- 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          525 

lions  of  dollars,"  said  Oldham.  "He  must  be  adequately 
safeguarded.  To  further  develop  and  even  to  maintain 
the  efficiency  of  what  he  has,  he  must  operate  to  a  large  extent 
on  borrowed  capital.  Borrowing  depends  on  credit;  and 
credit  depends  on  confidence.  If  conditions  are  proved  to 
be  unstable,  capital  will  prove  more  than  cautious  in  risking 
itself.  That  is  elementary.  Surely  you  can  see  that 
point." 

"I  can  see  that,  all  right,"  admitted  Bob. 

"Well,"  went  on  Oldham,  taking  heart,  "think  of  the 
responsibility  you  are  assuming  in  pushing  forward  a  mere 
technicality,  and  a  debatable  technicality  at  that.  You  are 
not  only  jeopardizing  a  great  and  established  business  —  I 
will  say  little  of  that  —  but  you  are  risking  the  prosperity  of 
a  whole  countryside.  If  Mr.  Baker's  enterprises  should  quit 
this  section,  the  civilization  of  the  state  would  receive  a  seri- 
ous setback.  Thousands  of  men  would  be  thrown  out  of 
employment,  not  only  on  the  company's  works,  but  all  along 
the  lines  of  its  holdings;  electric  light  and  power  would 
increase  in  price  —  a  heavy  burden  to  the  consumer;  the 
country  trolley  lines  must  quit  business,  for  only  with  water- 
generated  power  can  they  compete  with  railroads  at  all; 
fertile  lands  would  revert  to  desert " 

"  I  am  not  denying  the  value  of  Mr.  Baker's  enterprises," 
broke  in  Bob;  "but  what  has  a  billion  and  a  half  of  timber 
to  do  with  all  this?" 

"Mr.  Baker  has  long  been  searching  for  an  available 
supply  for  use  in  the  enterprises,"  said  Oldham,  eagerly 
availing  himself  of  this  opening.  "You  probably  have  a 
small  idea  of  the  immense  lumber  purchases  necessary  for 
the  construction  of  the  power  plants,  trolley  lines,  and  roads 
projected  by  Mr.  Baker.  Heretofore  the  company  has  been 
forced  to  buy  its  timber  in  the  open  market." 

"This  would  be  cheaper,"  suggested  Bob. 

"Much." 

"That  would  increase  net  profits,  of  course.     I  suppose 


526         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

that  would  result  in  increased  dividends.  Or,  perhaps,  the 
public  would  reap  the  benefit  in  decreased  cost  of  service." 

"Undoubtedly  both.  Certainly  electricity  and  transpor- 
tation would  cheapen." 

"The  same  open  markets  can  still  supply  the  necessary 
timber?" 

"At  practically  prohibitive  cost,"  Oldham  reminded. 

"  Which  the  company  has  heretofore  afforded  —  and  still 
paid  its  dividends,"  said  Bob  calmly.  "Well,  Mr.  Oldham, 
even  were  I  inclined  to  take  all  you  say  at  its  face  value;  even 
were  I  willing  to  admit  that  unless  Mr.  Baker  were  given 
this  timber  his  business  would  fail,  the  country  would  be 
deprived  of  the  benefits  of  his  enterprise,  and  the  public 
seriously  incommoded,  I  would  still  be  unable  to  follow  the 
logic  of  your  reasoning.  Mind  you,  I  do  not  admit  anything 
of  the  kind.  I  do  not  anticipate  any  more  dire  results  than 
that  the  dividends  will  remain  at  their  present  per  cent.  But 
even  supposing  your  argument  to  be  well  founded,  this  tim- 
ber belongs  to  the  people  of  the  United  States.  It  is  part  of 
John  Jones's  heritage,  whether  John  Jones  lives  in  White 
Oaks  or  New  York.  Why  should  I  permit  Jones  of  New 
York  to  be  robbed  in  favour  of  Jones  of  White  Oaks  — 
especially  since  Jones  of  New  York  put  me  here  to  look 
after  his  interests  for  him?  That's  the  real  issue;  and 
it's  very  simple." 

"You  look  at  the  matter  from  a  wrong  point  of  view " 

began  Oldham,  and  stopped.  The  land  agent  was  shrewd, 
and  knew  when  he  had  come  to  an  impasse. 

"I  always  respect  a  man  who  does  his  duty,"  he  began 
again,  "and  I  can  see  how  you're  tied  up  in  this  matter. 
But  a  resignation  could  be  arranged  for  very  easily.  Mr. 
Baker  knows  thoroughly  both  your  ability  and  experience, 
and  has  long  regretted  that  he  has  not  been  able  to  avail 
himself  of  them.  Of  course,  as  you  realize,  the  great  future 
of  all  this  country  is  not  along  the  lines  even  of  such  great 
industries  as  lumber  manufacture,  but  in  agriculture  and 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          527 

in  waterpower  engineering.  Here,  more  than  anywhere 
else  in  the  world,  Water  is  King!" 

A  recollection  tickled  Bob.  He  laughed  outright.  Old- 
ham  glanced  at  him  sharply. 

"  Oh,  the  Lucky  Lands,"  said  he  at  last;  "I'd  forgotten  you 
had  ever  been  there.  Well,  the  saying  is  as  true  now  as  it 
was  then.  The  great  future  for  any  young  man  is  along 
those  lines.  I  am  sure  —  in  fact,  I  am  told  to  say  with 
authority  —  that  Mr.  Baker  would  be  only  too  pleased  to  have 
you  come  in  with  him  on  this  new  enterprise  he  is  opening  up." 

"As  how?" 

"  As  stockholder  to  the  extent  of  ten  thousand  shares  pre- 
ferred, and  a  salaried  position  in  the  field,  of  course.  But, 
that  is  a  small  matter  compared  with  the  future  opportun- 
ities  " 

"It's  cheering  to  know  that  I'm  worth  so  much,"  inter- 
rupted Bob.  "Shares  now  worth  par?" 

"A  fraction  over." 

"  One  hundred  thousand  and  some  odd  dollars,"  observed 
Bob.  "It's  a  nice  tidy  bribe;  and  if  I  were  any  sort  of  a 
bribe  taker  at  all,  I'd  surely  feel  proud  and  grateful.  Only 
I'm  not.  So  you  might  just  as  well  have  made  it  a  million, 
and  then  I'd  have  felt  still  more  set  up  over  it." 

"I  hope  you  don't  think  I'm  a  bribe  giver,  either,"  said 
Oldham.  "I  admit  my  offer  was  not  well-timed;  but  it  has 
been  long  under  contemplation,  and  I  mentioned  it  as  it 
occurred  to  me." 

Having  thus  glided  over  this  false  start,  the  land  agent 
promptly  opened  another  consideration. 

"Perhaps  we  are  at  fatal  variance  on  our  economics," 
said  he;  "but  how  about  the  justice  of  the  thing?  When 
you  get  right  down  to  cases,  how  about  the  rest  of  them? 
I'll  venture  to  say  there  are  not  two  private  timber  holdings 
of  any  size  in  this  country  that  have  been  acquired  strictly 
within  the  letter  of  the  law.  Do  you  favour  general  con- 
fiscation?" 


528          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"I  believe  in  the  law,"  declared  Bob,  "and  I  do  not  believe 
your  statement." 

Oldham  rose. 

"I  tell  you  this,  young  man,"  he  said  coldly:  "you  can 
prosecute  the  Modoc  Company  or  not,  as  you  please  —  or, 
perhaps,  I  should  say,  you  can  introduce  your  private  tes- 
timony or  not,  as  you  please.  We  are  reasonable;  and  we 
know  you  cannot  control  government  prosecutions.  But 
the  Modoc  Company  intends  that  you  play  no  favourites." 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Bob  with  equal  coldness. 

"If  the  Modoc  Company  is  prosecuted,  we  will  make  it 
our  business  to  see  that  every  great  land  owner  holding  title 
in  this  Forest  is  brought  into  the  courts  for  the  same  offence. 
If  the  letter  of  the  law  is  to  be  enforced  against  us,  we'll 
see  that  it  is  enforced  against  all  others." 

Bob  bowed.     "  Suits  me,"  said  he. 

"Does  it?"  sneered  Oldham.  He  produced  a  bundle 
of  papers  bound  by  a  thick  elastic.  "Well,  I've  saved  you 
some  trouble  in  your  next  case.  Here  are  certified  copies 
of  the  documents  for  it,  copied  at  Sacramento,  and  subscribed 
to  before  a  notary.  Of  course,  you  can  verify  them;  but 
you'll  find  them  accurate." 

He  handed  them  to  Bob,  who  took  them,  completely  puz- 
zled. Oldham's  next  speech  enlightened  him. 

"You'll  find  there,"  said  the  older  man,  tapping  the  papers 
in  Bob's  hand,  "the  documents  in  full  relating  to  the  Wolver- 
ine Company's  land  holdings,  and  how  they  were  acquired. 
After  looking  them  over,  we  shall  expect  you  to  bring  suit 
If  you  do  not  do  so,  we  will  take  steps  to  force  you  to  do 
so  —  or,  failing  this,  to  resign!" 

With  these  words,  Oldham  turned  square  on  his  heel  and 
marched  to  where  Saleratus  Bill  was  stationed  with  the 
horses.  Bob  stared  after  him,  the  bundle  of  papers  in  his 
hand.  When  Oldham  had  mounted,  Bob  looked  down  on 
these  papers. 

"The  second  line  of  defence!"  said  he. 


XIX 

BOB'S  first  interest  was  naturally  to  examine  these 
documents.  He  found  them,  as  Oldham  had  said, 
copies  whose  accuracy  was  attested  by  the  copyist 
before  a  notary.  They  divided  themselves  into  two  classes. 
The  first  traced  the  titles  by  which  many  small  holdings  had 
come  into  the  hands  of  the  corporation  known  as  the  Wol- 
verine Company.  The  second  seemed  to  be  some  sort  of 
finding  by  an  investigating  commission.  This  latter  was  in 
the  way  of  explanation  of  the  title  records,  so  that  by  refer- 
ring from  one  to  the  other,  Bob  was  able  to  trace  out  the 
process  by  which  the  land  had  been  acquired.  This  had  been 
by  "  colonizing,"  as  it  was  called.  According  to  Federal  law, 
one  man  could  take  up  but  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres  of 
government  land.  It  had,  therefore,  been  the  practice  to 
furnish  citizens  with  the  necessary  capital  so  to  do;  after 
which  these  citizens  transferred  their  land  to  the  parent  com- 
pany. This  was,  of  course,  a  direct  evasion  of  the  law; 
as  direct  an  evasion  as  Baker's  use  of  the  mineral  lands 
act. 

For  a  time  Bob  was  unable  to  collect  his  reasoning  powers 
adequately  to  confront  this  new  fact.  His  thoughts  were  in 
a  whirl.  The  only  thing  that  stood  out  clearly  was  the  differ- 
ence in  the  two  cases.  He  knew  perfectly  that  after  Baker's 
effort  to  lift  bodily  from  the  public  domain  a  large  block  of 
its  wealth  every  decent  citizen  should  cry,  "Stop  thief!" 
Instinctively  he  felt,  though  as  yet  he  could  not  analyze  the 
reasons  for  so  feeling,  that  to  deprive  the  Wolverine  Com- 
pany of  its  holdings  would  work  a  crying  injustice.  Yet, 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  apparently,  the  cases  were  on  all 

529 


530          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

fours.  Bot ...  Welton  and  Baker  had  taken  advantage  of  a 
technicality. 

When  Bob  began  to  think  more  clearly,  he  at  first  laid  this 
difference  to  a  personal  liking,  and  was  inclined  to  blame 
himself  for  letting  his  affections  cloud  his  sense  of  justice. 
Baker  was  companionable,  jolly,  but  at  the  same  time  was 
shrewd,  cold,  calculating  and  unscrupulous  in  business.  He 
could  be  as  hard  as  nails.  Welton,  on  the  other  hand,  while 
possessing  all  of  Baker's  admirable  and  robust  qualities,  had 
with  them  an  endearing  and  honest  bigness  of  purpose, 
limited  only  —  though  decidedly  —  by  his  point  of  view 
and  the  bounds  of  his  practical  education.  Baker  would  steal 
land  without  compunction;  Welton  would  take  land  illegally 
without  thought  of  the  illegality,  only  because  everybody 
else  did  it  the  same  way. 

But  should  the  mere  fact  of  personality  make  any  difference 
in  the  enforcing  of  laws  ?  That  one  man  was  amiable  and  the 
other  not  so  amiable  had  nothing  to  do  with  eternal  justice. 
If  Bob  were  to  fulfil  his  duty  only  against  those  he  disliked, 
and  in  favour  of  his  friends,  he  had  indeed  slipped  back  to 
the  old  days  of  henchman  politics  from  which  the  nation 
was  slowly  struggling.  He  reared  his  head  at  this  thought. 
Surely  he  was  man  enough  to  sink  private  affairs  in  the  face 
of  a  stern  public  duty ! 

This  determined,  Bob  thought  the  question  settled.  After 
a  few  minutes,  it  returned  as  full  of  interrogation  points  as 
ever.  Leaving  Baker  and  Welton  entirely  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, the  two  cases  still  drew  apart.  One  was  just,  the  other 
unjust.  Why?  On  the  answer  depended  the  peace  of 
Bob's  conscience.  Of  course  he  would  resign  rather  than  be 
forced  to  prosecute  Welton.  That  was  understood,  and 
Bob  resolutely  postponed  contemplation  of  the  necessity. 
He  loved  this  life,  this  cause.  It  opened  out  into  wider  and 
more  beautiful  vistas  the  further  he  penetrated  into  it.  He 
conceived  it  the  only  life  for  which  he  was  particularly  fitted 
by  temperament  and  inclination.  To  give  it  up  would  be 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          531 

to  cut  himself  off  from  all  that  he  cared  for  most  in  active  life; 
and  would  be  to  cast  him  into  the  drudgery  of  new  and  uncon- 
genial lines.  That  sacrifice  must  be  made.  It's  contem- 
plation and  complete  realization  could  wait.  But  a  deeper 
necessity  held  Bob,  the  necessity  of  resolving  the  question  of 
equities  which  the  accident  of  his  personal  knowledge  of 
Welton  and  Baker  had  evoked.  He  had  to  prove  his  instincts 
right  or  wrong. 

He  was  not  quite  ready  to  submit  the  matter  officially,  but 
he  wished  very  much  to  talk  it  over  with  some  one.  Glanc- 
ing up  he  caught  sight  of  the  glitter  of  silver  and  the  satin 
sheen  of  a  horse.  Star  was  coming  down  through  the  trees, 
resplendent  in  his  silver  and  carved  leather  trappings,  glossy 
as  a  bird,  stepping  proudly  and  daintily  under  the  curbing  of 
his  heavy  Spanish  bit.  In  the  saddle  lounged  the  tall, 
homely  figure  of  old  California  John,  clad  in  faded  blue 
overalls,  the  brim  of  his  disreputable,  ancient  hat  flopped 
down  over  his  lean  brown  face,  and  his  kindly  blue  eyes. 
Bob  signalled  him. 

"John!"  he  called,  "come  here!  I  want  to  talk  with 
you!" 

The  stately,  beautiful  horse  turned  without  any  apparent 
guiding  motion  from  his  master,  stepped  the  intervening 
space  and  stopped.  California  John  swung  from  the  saddle. 
Star,  his  head  high,  his  nostril  wide,  his  eye  fixed  vaguely  on 
some  distant  vision,  stood  like  an  image. 

"I  want  a  good  talk  with  you,"  repeated  Bob. 

They  sat  on  the  same  log  whereon  Oldham  and  Bob  had 
conferred. 

"John,"  said  Bob,  "Oldham  has  been  here,  and  I  don't 
know  what  to  do." 

California  John  listened  without  a  single  word  of  comment 
while  Bob  detailed  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  situation. 
When  he  had  finished,  the  old  man  slowly  drew  forth  his 
pipe,  filled  it,  and  lit  it. 

"Son,"  said  he,  "I'm  an  old  man,  and  I've  lived  in  this 


532          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

state  since  the  early  gold  days.  That  means  I've  seen  a  lot  of 
things.  In  all  that  time  the  two  most  valuable  idees  I've 
dug  up  are  these :  in  the  first  place,  it  don't  never  do  to  go  off 
half-cock ;  and  in  the  second  place,  if  you  want  to  know  about 
a  thing,  go  to  headquarters  for  it." 

He  removed  his  pipe  and  blew  a  cloud. 

"Half  of  that's  for  me  and  the  other  half's  for  you,"  he 
resumed.  "I  ain't  going  to  give  you  my  notions  until  I've 
thought  them  over  a  little;  that's  for  me.  As  for  you,  if  I 
was  you,  I'd  just  amble  over  and  talk  the  whole  matter  over 
with  Mr.  Welton  and  see  what  he  thinks  about  his  end  of  it." 


XX 

THIS  advice  seemed  so  good  that  Bob  acted  upon  it  at 
his  earliest  opportunity.  He  found  Welton  riding 
his  old  brindle  mule  in  from  the  bull  donkey  where 
he  had  been  inspecting  the  work.  The  lumberman's  red,  jolly 
face  lit  up  with  a  smile  of  real  affection  as  he  recognized 
Bob,  an  expression  quickly  changed,  however,  as  he  caught 
sight  of  the  young  man's  countenance. 

" What's  up,  Bobby?"  he  inquired  with  concern;  " any- 
thing happened?" 

"Nothing  yet;  but  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

Welton  immediately  dismounted,  with  the  laborious 
clumsiness  of  the  man  brought  up  to  other  means  of  loco- 
motion, tied  Jane  to  a  tree,  and  threw  himself  down  at  the 
foot  of  a  tall  pine. 

"Let's  have  it,"  said  he. 

"There  have  come  into  my  hands  some  documents,"  said 
Bob,  "  that  embarrass  me  a  great  deal.  Here  they  are." 

He  handed  them  to  Welton.  The  lumberman  ran  them 
through  in  silence. 

"Well,"  he  commented  cheerfully,  "they  seem  to  be  all 
right.  What's  the  matter?" 

"The  matter  is  with  the  title  to  the  land,"  said  Bob. 

Welton  looked  the  list  of  records  over  more  carefully. 

"I'm  no  lawyer,"  he  confessed  at  last;  "but  it  don't  need 
a  lawyer  to  see  that  this  is  all  regular  enough." 

"Have  you  read  the  findings  of  the  commission?" 

"That  stuff?  Sure!  That  don't  amount  to  anything. 
It's  merely  an  expression  of  opinion;  and  mighty  poor  opin- 
ion at  that." 

533 


534         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Don't  you  see  what  I'm  up  against?"  insisted  Bob.  "It 
will  be  in  my  line  of  duty  to  open  suit  against  the  Wolverine 
Company  for  recovery  of  those  lands." 

"Suit!"  echoed  Welton.  "You  talk  foolish,  Bob.  This 
company  has  owned  these  lands  for  nearly  thirty  years,  and 
paid  taxes  on  them.  The  records  are  all  straight,  and  the 
titles  clear." 

"  It  begins  to  look  as  if  the  lands  were  taken  up  contrary 
to  law,"  insisted  Bob;  "  and,  if  so,  I'll  be  called  upon  to  prose- 
cute." 

"Contrary  to  your  grandmother,"  said  Welton  contempt- 
uously. "  Some  of  your  young  squirts  of  lawyers  have  been 
reading  their  little  books.  If  these  lands  were  taken  up  con- 
trary to  law,  why  so  were  every  other  timber  lands  in  the 
state." 

"That  may  be  true,  also,"  said  Bob.     "I  don't  know." 

"Well,  will  you  tell  me  what's  wrong  with  them?"  asked 
Welton. 

"It  appears  as  though  the  lands  were  'colonized,'"  said 
Bob;  "or,  at  least,  such  of  them  as  were  not  bought  from  the 
bank." 

"I  guess  you  boys  have  a  new  brand  of  slang,"  confessed 
Welton. 

"  Why,  I  mean  the  tract  was  taken  direct  from  many  small 
holders  in  hundred- and-sixty-acre  lots,"  explained  Bob. 

Welton  stared  at  him. 

"Well,  will  you  tell  me  how  in  blazes  you  were  going  to 
get  together  a  piece  of  timber  big  enough  to  handle  in  any 
other  way?"  he  demanded  at  last.  "All  one  firm  could  take 
up  by  itself  was  a  quarter  section,  and  you're  not  crazy  enough 
to  think  any  concern  could  afford  to  build  a  plant  for  the  sake 
of  cutting  that  amount!  That's  preposterous!  A  man  cer- 
tainly has  a  right  under  the  law  to  sell  what  is  his  to  whom- 
ever he  pleases." 

"But  the  'colonists,'"  said  Bob,  "took  up  this  land  merely 
for  the  purpose  of  turning  it  over  to  the  company.  The 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          535 

intention  of  the  law  is  that  the  timber  is  for  the  benefit  of  the 
original  claimant." 

•'Well,  it's  for  his  benefit,  if  he  gets  paid  for  it,  ain't  it?" 
demanded  Welton  ingenuously.  "You  can't  expect  him  to 
cut  it  himself." 

"That  is  the  intent  of  the  law,"  insisted  Bob,  "and  that's 
what  I'll  be  called  upon  to  do.  What  shall  I  do  about  it?" 

"Quit  the  game!"  said  Welton,  promptly  and  eagerly. 
"You  can  see  yourself  how  foolish  it  is.  That  crew  of  young 
squirts  just  out  of  school  would  upset  the  whole  property 
values  of  the  state.  Besides,  as  I've  just  shown  you,  it's  fool- 
ish. Come  on  back  in  a  sensible  business.  We'd  get  on  fine ! " 

Bob  shook  his  head. 

"  Then  go  ahead ;  bring  your  case,"  said  Welton.  "  I  don't 
mind." 

"I  do,"  said  Bob.     "It  looks  like  a  strong  case  to  me." 

"  Don't  bring  it.  You  don't  need  to  report  in  your  evidence 
as  you  call  it.  Just  forget  it." 

"Even  if  I  were  inclined  to  do  so,"  said  Bob,  "I  wouldn't 
be  allowed.  Baker  would  force  the  matter  to  publicity." 

"  Baker,"  repeated  Welton ; "  what  has  he  got  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  It's  in  regard  to  the  lands  in  the  Basin.  He  took  them  up 
under  the  mineral  act,  and  plainly  against  all  law  and  decency. 
It's  the  plainest  case  of  fraud  I  know  about,  and  is  a  direct 
steal  right  from  under  our  noses." 

"I  think  myself  he's  skinning  things  a  trifle  fine,"  admit- 
ted Welton;  "but  I  can't  see  but  what  he's  complied  with  the 
law  all  right.  He  don't  have  any  right  to  that  timber,  I'll 
agree  with  you  there;  but  it  looks  to  me  like  the  law  had  a  hole 
in  it." 

"  If  he  took  that  land  up  for  other  purposes  than  an  honest 
intention  to  mine  on  it,  the  title  might  be  set  aside,"  said  Bob. 

"You'd  have  a  picnic  proving  anything  of  the  sort  one  way  or 
another  about  what  a  man  intends  to  do,"  Welton  pointed  out. 

"Do  you  remember  one  evening  when  Baker  was  up  at 
camp  and  was  kicking  on  paying  water  tolls  ?  It  was  about 


536         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

the  time  Thorne  first  came  in  as  Supervisor,  and  just  before  I 
entered  the  Service." 

"  Seems  to  me  I  recall  something  of  the  sort." 

"Well,  you  think  it  over.  Baker  told  us  then  that  he  had 
a  way  of  beating  the  tolls,  and  mentioned  this  very  scheme 
of  taking  advantage  of  the  mineral  laws.  At  the  time  he 
had  a  notion  of  letting  us  in  on  the  timber." 

"Sure!     I  remember!"  cried  Welton. 

"Well,  if  you  and  I  were  to  testify  as  to  that  conversation, 
we'd  establish  his  intent  plainly  enough." 

"Sure  as  you're  a  foot  high!"  said  Welton  slowly. 

"Baker  knows  this;  and  he's  threatened,  if  I  testify  against 
him,  to  bring  the  Wolverine  Company  into  the  fight.  Now 
what  should  I  do  about  it?" 

Welton  turned  on  him  a  troubled  eye. 

"Bob,"  said  he,  "there's  more  to  this  than  you  think.  I 
didn't  have  anything  to  do  with  this  land  until  just  before  we 
came  out  here.  One  of  the  company  got  control  of  it  thirty 
year  ago.  All  that  flapdoodle,"  he  struck  the  papers,  "didn't 
mean  nothing  to  me  when  I  thought  it  came  from  your 
amatoore  detectives.  But  if  Baker  has  this  case  looked  up 
there's  something  to  it.  Go  slow,  son." 

He  studied  a  moment. 

"Have  you  told  your  officers  of  your  own  evidence  against 
Baker?" 

"Not  yet." 

"  Or  about  these  ?"  he  held  up  the  papers. 

"No." 

"  Well,  that's  all  right.     Don't." 

"It's  my  duty " 

"Resign!"  cried  Welton  energetically;  "then  it  won't  be 
your  duty.  Nobody  knows  about  what  you  know.  If  you're 
not  called  on,  you've  nothing  to  say.  You  don't  have  to  tell 
all  you  know." 

A  vision  swept  before  Bob's  eyes  of  a  noble  forest  supposedly 
safe  for  all  time  devoted  by  his  silence  to  a  private  greed. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          537 

"  But  concealing  evidence  is  as  much  of  a  perjury  as  falsi- 
fying it "  he  began.  A  second  vision  flashed  by  of  a 

ragged,  unshorn  fugitive,  now  in  jail,  whom  his  testimony 
could  condemn.  He  fell  silent. 

"Let  sleeping  dogs  lie,"  said  Welton,  earnestly.  "You 
don't  know  the  harm  you  may  do.  Your  father's  reelection 
comes  this  fall,  you  know,  and  even  if  it's  untrue,  a  suit  of  this 
character He  in  his  turn  broke  off. 

"I  don't  see  how  this  could  hurt  father's  chances  —  either 
way,"  said  Bob,  puzzled. 

"Well,  you  know  how  I  think  about  it,"  said  Welton  curtly, 
rising.  "You  asked  me." 

He  stumped  over  to  Jane,  untied  the  rope  with  his  thick 
fingers,  clambered  aboard.  From  the  mule's  back  he  looked 
down  on  Bob,  his  kindly,  homely  face  again  alight  with  affec- 
tion. 

"If  you  never  have  anything  worse  on  your  conscience 
than  keeping  your  face  shut  to  protect  a  friend  from  injustice, 
Bobby,"  he  said,  "I  reckon  you  won't  lose  much  sleep." 

With  these  words  he  rode  away.  Bob,  returning  to  camp, 
unsaddled,  and,  very  weary,  sought  his  cabin.  His  cabin 
mate  was  stolidly  awaiting  him,  seated  on  the  single  door  step. 

"  My  friend  that  was  going  to  leave  me  some  money  in  my 
bunk  was  coming  to-day,"  said  Jack  Pollock.  "It  ain't  in 
your  bunk  by  mistake?" 

"Jack,"  said  Bob,  weariedly  throwing  all  the  usual  pre- 
tence aside,  "I'm  ashamed  to  say  I  clean  forgot  it;  I  had 
such  a  job  on  hand.  I'll  ride  over  and  get  it  now." 

"Don't  understand  you,"  said  Jack,  without  moving  a 
muscle  of  his  face. 

Bob  smiled  at  the  serious  young  mountaineer,  playing 
loyally  his  part  even  to  his  fellow-conspirator. 

"Jack,"  said  he,  "I  guess  your  friend  must  have  been 
delayed.  Maybe  he'll  get  here  later." 

"  Quite  like,"  nodded  Jack  gravely. 


XXI 

BOB  made  the  earliest  chance  to  obtain  California 
John's  promised  advice.     The  old  man  was  unlet- 
tered, but  his  understanding  was  informed  by  a 
broad  and  gentle  spirit  and  long  experience  of  varied  things. 
On  this  the  head  ranger  himself  touched. 

"  Bob,"  he  began,  "  I'm  an  old  man,  and  I've  lived  through 
a  lot.  When  I  come  into  this  state  the  elk  and  deer  and 
antelope  was  running  out  on  the  plains  like  sheep.  I  mined 
and  prospected  up  and  down  these  mountains  when  nobody 
knew  their  names.  There's  hardly  a  gold  camp  you  can 
call  over  that  I  ain't  been  in  on;  nor  a  set  of  men  that  had 
anything  to  do  with  making  the  state  that  I  ain't  tracked 
up  with.  Most  of  the  valley  towns  wasn't  in  existence  those 
days,  and  the  rest  was  little  cattle  towns  that  didn't  amount 
to  anything.  The  railroad  took  a  week  to  come  from 
Chicago.  There  wasn't  any  railroad  up  the  coast.  They 
hadn't  begun  to  irrigate  much.  Where  the  Redlands  and 
Riverside  orange  groves  are  there  was  nothing  but  dry 
washes  and  sage-brush  desert.  It  cost  big  money  to  send 
freight.  All  that  was  shipped  out  of  the  country  in  a  season 
wouldn't  make  up  one  shipment  these  days.  I  suppose  to 
folks  back  East  this  country  looked  about  as  far  off  as  Africa. 
Even  to  folks  living  in  California  the  country  as  far  back  as 
these  mountains  looked  like  going  to  China.  They  got  all 
their  lumber  from  the  Coast  ranges  and  the  lower  hills. 
This  back  here  was  just  wilderness,  so  far  off  that  nobody 
rightly  thought  of  it  as  United  States  at  all. 

"  Of  course,  by  and  by  the  country  settled  up  a  little  more 
but  even  then  nobody  ever  thought  of  timber.  You  see, 

538 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME         539 

there  was  no  market  to  amount  to  anything  out  here;  and 
a  few  little  jerk-water  mills  could  supply  the  whole  layout 
easy.  East,  the  lumber  in  Michigan  and  Wisconsin  and 
Minnesota  never  was  going  to  give  out.  In  those  days  you 
could  hardly  give  away  land  up  in  this  country.  The  fellow 
that  went  in  for  timber  was  looked  on  as  a  lunatic.  It  took 
a  big  man  with  lots  of  sand  to  see  it  at  all." 

Bob  nodded,  his  eye  kindling  with  the  beginnings  of 
understanding. 

"There  was  a  few  of  them.  They  saw  far  enough  ahead, 
and  they  come  in  here  and  took  up  some  timber.  Other  folks 
laughed  at  them;  but  I  guess  they're  doing  most  of  the 
laughing  now.  It  took  nerve,  and  it  took  sense,  and  it  took 
time,  and  it  took  patience."  California  John  emphasized 
each  point  with  a  pat  of  his  brown,  gnarled  hand. 

"Now  those  fellows  started  things  for  this  country.  If 
they  hadn't  had  the  sheer  nerve  to  take  up  that  timber, 
nobody  would  have  dared  do  anything  else  —  not  for  years 
anyhow.  But  just  the  fact  that  the  Wolverine  Company 
bought  big,  and  other  big  men  come  in  —  why  it  give 
confidence  to  the  people.  The  country  boomed  right  ahead. 
If  nobody  had  seen  the  future  of  the  country,  she'd  have 
been  twenty  year  behind.  Out  West  that  means  a  hell  of  a 
lot  of  value,  let  me  tell  you!" 

"The  timber  would  have  belonged  to  the  Government," 
Bob  reminded  him. 

"I'm  a  Forest  officer,"  said  California  John,  "and  what's 
more,  I  was  a  Forest  officer  for  a  good  many  years  when 
there  was  nothin'  to  it  but  kicks.  There  can't  nobody  beat 
me  in  wishing  a  lot  of  good  forest  land  was  under  the  Service 
instead  of  being  due  to  be  cut  up  by  lumbermen.  But  I've 
lived  too  long  not  to  see  the  point.  You  can't  get  benefits 
without  paying  for  'em.  The  United  States  of  America 
was  big  gainers  because  these  old  fellows  had  the  nerve 
just  to  come  in  and  buy.  It  ain't  so  much  the  lumber  they 
saw  and  put  out  where  it's  needed  —  though  that's  a  good 


540          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

deal:  and  it  ain't  so  much  the  men  they  bring  into  the 
country  and  give  work  to  —  though  that's  a  lot,  too.  It's 
the  confidence  they  inspire,  it's  the  lead  they  give.  That's 
what  counts.  All  the  rest  of  these  little  operators,  and  work- 
men, and  storekeepers,  and  manufacturers  wouldn't  have 
found  their  way  out  here  in  twenty  years  if  the  big  fellows 
hadn't  led  the  way.  If  you  should  go  over  and  buy  ten 
thousand  acres  of  land  by  Table  Mountain  to-morrow,  next 
year  there' d  be  a  dozen  to  follow  you  in  and  do  whatever 
you'd  be  doing.  And  while  it's  the  big  fellow  that  gives  the 
lead,  it's  the  little  fellow  that  makes  the  wealth  oj  the  country!" 

Bob  stared  at  the  old  man  in  fascinated  surprise.  This 
was  a  new  California  John,  this  closely  reasoning  man, 
with,  clear,  earnest  eyes,  laying  down  the  simple  doctrine 
taught  by  a  long  life  among  men. 

"The  Government  gives  alternate  sections  of  land  to  rail- 
roads to  bring  them  in  the  country,"  went  on  California  John. 
"  In  my  notion  all  this  timber  land  in  private  hands  is 
where  it  belongs.  It's  the  price  the  Government  paid  for 
wealth.'" 

"And  the  Basin "  cried  Bob. 

"What  the  hell  more  confidence  does  this  country  need 
now?"  demanded  California  John  fiercely;  "what  with  its 
mills  and  its  trolleys,  its  vineyards  and  all  its  big  projects. 
What  right  has  this  man  Baker  to  get  pay  for  what  he  ain't 
done?" 

The  distinction  Bob  had  sensed,  but  had  not  been  able 
to  analyze,  leaped  at  him.  The  equities  hung  in  equal 
balance.  On  one  side  he  saw  the  pioneer,  pressing  forward 
into  an  unknown  wilderness,  breaking  a  way  for  those  that 
could  follow,  holding  aloft  a  torch  to  illumine  dark  places, 
taking  long  and  desperate  chances,  or  seeing  with  almost 
clairvoyant  power  beyond  the  immediate  vision  of  men; 
waiting  in  faith  for  the  fulfillment  of  their  prophecies.  On 
the  other  he  saw  the  plunderer,  grasping  for  a  wealth  that 
did  not  belong  to  him,  through  values  he  had  not  made. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          541 

This  fundamental  difference  could  never  again,  in  Bob's 
mind,  be  gainsaid. 

Nevertheless  though  a  difference  in  deeper  ethics,  it  did 
not  extend  to  the  surface  of  things  by  which  men  live.  It 
explained;  but  did  it  excuse,  especially  in  the  eye  of  abstract 
ethics?  Had  not  these  men  broken  the  law,  and  is  not  the 
upholding  of  the  law  important  in  its  moral  effect  on  those 
that  follow? 

"  Just  the  same,"  he  voiced  this  thought  to  California 
John,  "the  laws  read  then  as  they  do  to-day." 

"On  the  books,  yes,"  replied  the  old  man,  slowly;  "but 
not  in  men's  ideas.  You  got  to  remember  that  those  fellows 
held  pretty  straight  by  what  the  law  says.  They  got  other 
men  to  take  up  the  timber,  and  then  had  it  transferred  to 
themselves.  That's  according  to  law.  A  man  can  do  what 
he  wants  with  his  own.  You  know." 

"But  the  intention  of  the  law  is  to  give  every  man  a " 

"That's  what  we  go  by  now,"  interrupted  California 
John. 

"What  other  way  is  there  to  go  by?" 

"None  —  now.  But  in  those  days  that  was  the  settled 
way  to  get  timber  land.  They  didn't  make  any  secret  of  it. 
They  just  looked  at  it  as  the  process  to  go  through  with,  like 
filing  a  deed,  or  getting  two  witnesses.  It  was  a  nuisance, 
and  looked  foolish,  but  if  that  was  the  way  to  do  it,  why 
they'd  do  it  that  way.  Everybody  knew  that.  Why,  if  a 
man  wanted  to  get  enough  timber  to  go  to  operating  on,  his 
lawyer  would  explain  to  him  how  to  do  it ;  any  of  his  friends 
that  was  posted  would  show  him  the  ropes;  and  if  he'd  take 
the  trouble  to  go  to  the  Land  Office  itself,  the  clerk  would 
say:  'No,  Mr.  Man,  I  can't  transfer  to  you,  personally, 
more'n  a  hundred  and  sixty  acres,  but  you  can  get  some  of 
your  friends  to  take  it  up  for  you.'*  Now  will  you  tell  me 
how  Mr.  Man  could  get  it  any  straighter  than  that?" 

Bob  was  seeing  a  great  light.     He  nodded. 

*  A  fact. 


542          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"They've  changed  the  rules  of  the  game!"  said  California 
John  impressively,  "and  now  they  want  to  go  back  thirty 
year  and  hold  these  fellows  to  account  for  what  they  did 
under  the  old  rules.  It  don't  look  to  me  like  it's  fair." 

He  thought  a  moment. 

"I  suppose,"  he  remarked  reflectively,  going  off  on  one  of 
his  strange  tangents,  and  lapsing  once  more  into  his  cus- 
tomary picturesque  speech,  "that  these  old  boys  that  burned 
those  Salem  witches  was  pretty  well  thought  of  in  Salem  - 
deacons  in  the  church,  and  all  such;  p'ticular  elect,  and  held 
up  to  the  kids  for  high  moral  examples?  had  the  plumb 
universal  approval  in  those  torchlight  efforts  of  theirn?" 

"So  I  believe,"  said  Bob. 

"Well,"  drawled  California  John,  stretching  his  lank 
frame,  "suppose  one  of  those  old  bucks  had  lived  to  now  - 
of  course,  he  couldn't,  but  suppose  he  did  —  and  was  enjoy- 
ing himself  and  being  a  good  citizen.  And  suppose  some 
day  the  sheriff  touched  him  on  the  shoulder  and  says :  '  Old 
boy,  we're  rounding  up  all  the  murderers.  I've  just  got 
Saleratus  Bill  for  scragging  Franklin.  You  come  along,  too. 
Don't  you  know  that  burnin'  witches  is  murder?'"  Cali- 
fornia John  spat  with  vigour.  "  Oh,  hell!"  said  he. 

"Now,  Baker,"  he  went  on,  after  a  moment,  "is  Saleratus 
Bill  because  he  knows  he's  agin  what  the  people  knows  is 
the  law;  and  the  other  fellows  is  old  Salem  because  they 
lived  like  they  were  told  to.  Even  old  Salem  would  know 
that  he  couldn't  burn  no  witches  nowadays.  These  old 
timers  ain't  the  ones  trying  to  steal  land  now,  you  notice. 
They're  too  damn  honest.  You  don't  need  to  tell  me  that 
you  believe  for  one  minute  when  he  took  up  this  Wolverine 
land,  that  your  father  did  anything  that  he,  or  anybody  else, 
courts  included,  thought  was  off-colour." 

"My  father!"  cried  Bob. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  California  John,  looking  at  him  curi- 
ously; "you  don't  mean  to  say  you  didn't  know  he  is  the 
Wolverine  Company!" 


XXII 

WELL,"  said  California  John,  after  a  pause,  " after 
you've  made  your  jump  there  ain't  much  use  in 
trying  to  turn  back.  If  you  didn't  know  it,  why- 
it  was  evident  you  wasn't  intended  to  know  it.  But  I  was 
in  the  country  when  your  father  bought  the  land,  so  I  hap- 
pened to  know  about  it." 

Bob  stared  at  the  old  man  so  long  that  the  latter  felt  called 
upon  to  reassure  him. 

"I  wouldn't  take  it  so  hard,  if  I  was  you,  son,"  said  he. 
"I  really  don't  think  all  these  bluffs  of  Baker's  amount  to 
much.  The  findings  of  that  commission  ain't  never  been 
acted  on,  which  would  seem  to  show  that  it  didn't  come  to 
nothing  at  the  time;  and  I  don't  have  the  slightest  notion  in 
the  world  but  what  the  whole  thing  will  blow  up  in  smoke." 

"As  far  as  that  is  concerned,  I  haven't  either,"  said  Bob; 
"though  you  never  can  tell,  and  defending  such  a  suit  is  always 
an  expensive  matter.  But  here's  the  trouble;  my  father  is 
Congressman  from  Michigan,  he's  been  in  several  pretty 
heavy  fights  this  last  year,  and  has  some  powerful  enemies; 
he  is  up  for  reelection  this  fall." 

"Suffering  cats!"  whistled  California  John. 

"A  lot  could  be  made  of  a  suit  of  that  nature,"  said  Bob, 
"whether  it  had  any  basis,  or  not." 

"I've  run  for  County  Supervisor  in  my  time,"  said  Cali- 
fornia John  simply. 

"Well,  what  is  your  advice?"  asked  Bob. 

"Son,  I  ain't  got  none,"  replied  the  old  man. 

That  very  evening  a  messenger  rode  over  from  the  mill 
bringing  a  summons  from  Welton.  Bob  saddled  up  at 

543 


544          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

once.  He  found  the  lumberman,  not  in  the  comfortable  sit- 
ting room  at  his  private  sleeping  camp,  but  watching  the 
lamp  alone  in  the  office.  As  Bob  entered,  his  former  asso- 
ciate turned  a  troubled  face  toward  the  young  man. 

"Bob,"  said  he  at  once,  "they've  got  the  old  man  cinched, 
unless  you'll  help  out." 

"How's  that?" 

"You  remember  when  we  first  came  in  here  how  Plant 
closed  the  road  and  the  flume  right-of-way  on  us  because  we 
didn't  have  the  permit?" 

"Of  course." 

"Now,  Bob,  you  remember  how  we  was  up  against  it, 
don't  you  ?  If  we  hadn't  gone  through  that  year  we'd  have 
busted  the  business  absolutely.  It  was  just  a  case  of  hold-up 
and  we  had  to  pay  it.  You  remember?" 

"Yes." 

"Well!"  burst  out  Welton,  bringing  his  fist  down,  "now 
this  hound,  Baker,  sends  up  his  slick  lawyer  to  tell  me 
that  was  bribery,  and  that  he  can  have  me  up  on  a  criminal 
charge!" 

" He's  bluffing,"  said  Bob  quietly.  "I  remember  all  about 
that  case.  If  I'd  known  as  much  then  of  inside  workings 
as  I  do  now,  I'd  have  taken  a  hand.  But  Baker  himself 
ran  the  whole  show.  If  he  brings  that  matter  into  court, 
he'll  be  subject  to  the  same  charge;  for,  if  you  remember,  he 
paid  the  money." 

"Will  he!"  shouted  Welton.  "You  don't  know  the  low- 
lived skunk!  Erbe  told  me  that  if  this  suit  was  brought  and 
you  testified  in  the  matter,  that  Baker  would  turn  state's 
evidence  against  me!  That  would  let  him  off  scot-free." 

"What!"  said  Bob  incredulously.  "Brand  himself  pub- 
licly as  a  criminal  and  tell-tale  just  to  get  you  into  trouble! 
Not  likely.  Think  what  that  would  mean  to  a  man  in  his 
position!  It  would  be  every  bit  as  bad  as  though  he  were 
to  take  his  jail  sentence.  He's  bluffing  again." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  asked  Welton,  a  gleam  of  relief 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          545 

lightening  the  gloom  of  his  red,  good-natured  face.  "I'll 
agree  to  handle  the  worst  river  crew  you  can  hand  out  to  me; 
but  this  law  business  gets  me  running  in  circles." 

"It  does  all  of  us,"  said  Bob  with  a  sigh. 

"I  concluded  from  Erbe's  coming  up  here  that  you  had 
decided  to  tell  about  what  you  knew.  That  ain't  so,  is  it?" 

"I  don't  know;  I  can't  see  my  duty  clearly  yet." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Bobby,  what's  it  to  you!"  demanded 
Welton  exasperated. 

But  Bob  did  not  hear  him. 

"I  think  the  direct  way  is  the  best,"  he  remarked,  by  way 
of  thinking  aloud.  "I'm  going  to  keep  on  going  to  head- 
quarters. I'm  going  to  write  father  and  put  it  straight  to  him 
how  he  did  get  those  lands  and  tell  him  the  whole  situation; 
and  I'm  going  down  to  interview  Baker,  and  discover,  if  I  can, 
just  how  much  of  a  bluff  he  is  putting  up." 

"In  the  meantime-  said  Welton  apparently  not 

noting  the  fact  that  Bob  had  become  aware  of  the  senior 
Orde's  eonnection  with  the  land. 

"In  the  meantime  I'm  going  to  postpone  action  if  I 
can." 

"They're  summoning  witnesses  for  the  Basin  trial." 

"I'll  do  the  best  I  can,"  concluded  Bob. 

Accordingly  he  wrote  the  next  day  to  his  father.  In  this 
letter  he  stated  frankly  the  situation  as  far  as  it  affected  the 
Wolverine  lands,  but  said  nothing  about  the  threatened 
criminal  charges  against  Welton.  That  was  another  matter. 
He  set  out  the  great  value  of  the  Basin  lands  and  the  methods 
by  which  they  had  been  acquired.  He  pointed  out  his  duty, 
both  as  a  forest  officer  and  as  a  citizen,  but  balanced  this  by 
the  private  considerations  that  had  developed  from  the 
situation. 

This  dispatched,  he  applied  for  leave. 

"This  is  the  busy  season,  and  we  can  spare  no  one,"  said 
Thorne.  "You  have  important  matters  on  hand." 

"This  is  especially  important,"  urged  Bob. 


546          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"  It  is  absolutely  impossible.  Come  two  months  later,  and 
I'll  be  glad  to  lay  you  off  as  long  as  I  can." 

"  This  particular  affair  is  most  urgent  business." 

"Private,  of  course?" 

4t'Not  entirely." 

"Couldn't  be  considered  official?" 

"  It  might  become  so." 

"What  is  it?" 

"That  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  tell  you." 

Thorne  considered. 

"No;  I'm  sorry,  but  I  don't  see  how  I  can  spare  you." 

"In  that  case,"  said  Bob  quietly,  "you  will  force  me  to 
tender  my  resignation." 

Thorne  looked  up  at  him  quickly,  and  studied  his  face. 

"From  anybody  else,  Orde,"  said  he,  "I'd  take  that  as  a 
threat  or  a  hold-up,  and  fire  the  man  on  the  spot.  From 
you  I  do  not.  The  matter  must  be  really  serious.  You 
may  go.  Get  back  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Bob.  "It  is  serious.  Three  days 
will  do  me." 

He  set  about  his  preparations  at  once,  packing  a  suit  case 
with  linen  long  out  of  commission,  smoothing  out  the  tailored 
clothes  he  had  not  had  occasion  to  use  for  many  a  day.  He 
then  transported  this  —  and  himself  —  down  the  mountain 
on  his  saddle  horse.  At  Auntie  Belle's  he  changed  his  clothes. 
The  next  morning  he  caught  the  stage,  and  by  the  day  fol- 
lowing walked  up  the  main  street  of  Fremont. 

He  had  no  trouble  in  finding  Baker's  office.  The  Sycamore 
Creek  operations  were  one  group  of  many.  As  one  of 
Baker's  companies  furnished  Fremont  with  light  and  power, 
it  followed  that  at  night  the  name  of  that  company  blazed 
forth  in  thousands  of  lights.  The  sign  was  not  the  less 
legible,  though  not  so  fiery,  by  day.  Bob  walked  into  exten- 
sive ground-floor  offices  behind  plate-glass  windows.  Here 
were  wickets  and  railings  through  which  and  over  which  the 
public  business  was  transacted.  A  narrow  passageway 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          547 

sidled  down  between  the  wall  and  a  row  of  ground-glass 
doors,  on  which  were  lettered  the  names  of  various  officers 
of  the  company.  At  a  swinging  bar  separating  this  passage 
from  the  main  office  sat  a  uniformed  boy  directing  and  stamp- 
ing envelopes. 

Bob  wrote  his  name  on  a  blank  form  offered  by  this  youth. 
The  young  man  gazed  at  it  a  moment  superciliously,  then 
sauntered  with  an  air  of  great  leisure  down  the  long  corridor. 
He  reappeared  after  a  moment's  absence  behind  the  last 
door,  to  return  with  considerably  more  alacrity. 

"Come  right  in,  sir,"  he  told  Bob,  in  tones  which  mingled 
much  deference  with  considerable  surprise. 

Bob  had  no  reason  to  understand  how  unusual  was  the 
circumstance  of  so  prompt  a  reception  of  a  visitor  for  whom 
no  previous  appointment  had  been  made.  He  entered  the 
door  held  open  for  him  by  the  boy,  and  so  found  himself  in 
Baker's  presence. 


XXIII 

THE  office  was  expensively  but  plainly  furnished  in 
hardwoods.  A  thick  rug  covered  the  floor,  easy 
chairs  drew  up  by  a  fireplace,  several  good  pictures 
hung  on  the  wall.  Near  the  windows  stood  a  small  desk  for 
a  stenographer,  and  a  wide  mahogany  table.  Behind  this 
latter,  his  back  to  the  light,  sat  Baker. 

The  man's  sturdy  figure  was  absolutely  immobile,  and  the 
customary  facetiously  quizzical  lines  of  his  face  had  given 
place  to  an  expression  of  cold  attention.  When  he  spoke, 
Bob  found  that  the  picturesque  diction  too  had  vanished. 

At  Bob's  entrance,  Baker  inclined  his  head  coldly  in  greet- 
ing, but  said  nothing.  Bob  deliberately  crossed  the  room 
and  rested  his  two  fists,  knuckle  down,  on  the  polished  desk- 
top. Baker  waited  stolidly  for  him  to  proceed.  Bob  jerked 
his  head  toward  the  stenographer. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  in  private,"  said  he. 

The  stenographer  glanced  toward  her  employer.  The 
latter  nodded,  whereupon  she  gathered  a  few  stray  leaves  of 
paper  and  departed.  Bob  looked  after  her  until  the  door  had 
closed  behind  her.  Then,  quite  deliberately,  he  made  a  tour 
of  the  office,  trying  doors,  peering  behind  curtains  and  por- 
tieres. He  ended  at  the  desk,  to  find  Baker's  eye  fixed 
on  him  with  sardonic  humour.  "Melodramatic,  useless 
—  and  ridiculous,"  he  said  briefly. 

"  If  I  have  any  evidence  to  give,  it  will  be  in  court,  not  in 
a  private  office,"  replied  Bob  composedly. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  demanded  Baker. 

"I  have  come  this  far  solely  and  simply  to  get  a  piece  of 
information  at  first  hand.  I  was  told  you  had  threatened 

548 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          549 

to  become  a  blackmailer,  and  I  wanted  to  find  out  if  it 
is  true?" 

"In  a  world  of  contrary  definitions,  it  is  necessary  to 
come  down  to  facts.  What  do  you  mean  by  blackmailer  ?" 

"  It  has  been  told  me  that  you  intend  to  aid  criminal  pro- 
ceedings against  Mr.  Welton  in  regard  to  the  right-of-way 
trouble  and  the  'sugaring'  of  Plant." 

"Well?" 

"And  that  in  order  to  evade  your  own  criminal  respon- 
sibility in  the  matter  you  intended  to  turn  state's  evidence." 

"Well?"  repeated  Baker. 

"  It  seemed  inconceivable  to  me  that  a  man  of  your  social 
and  business  standing  would  not  only  confess  himself  a 
petty  criminal,  but  one  who  shelters  himself  by  betrayal  of  his 
confederate." 

"I  do  not  relish  any  such  process,"  stated  Baker  formally, 
"  and  would  avoid  it  if  possible.  Nevertheless,  if  the  situa- 
tion comes  squarely  up  to  me,  I  shall  meet  it." 

"I  suppose  you  have  thought  what  decent  men ' 

Baker  held  up  one  hand.  This  was  the  first  physical  move- 
ment he  had  made. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  interrupted.  "Let  us  understand,  once 
and  for  all,  that  I  intend  to  defend  myself  when  attacked. 
Personally  I  do  not  think  that  either  Mr.  Welton  or  myself  are 
legally  answerable  for  what  we  have  done.  I  regret  to 
observe  that  you,  among  others,  think  differently.  If  the 
whole  matter  were  to  be  dropped  at  this  point,  I  should  rest 
quite  content.  But  if  the  matter  is  not  dropped"  -  at 
last  he  let  his  uplifted  hand  fall,  "if  the  matter  is  not 
dropped,"  he  repeated,  "my  sense  of  justice  is  strong  enough 
to  feel  that  every  one  should  stand  on  the  same  footing.  If 
I  am  to  be  dragged  into  court,  so  must  others." 

Bob  stood  thoughtful  for  a  moment. 

"I  guess  that's  all,"  said  he,  and  walked  out. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Baker  reached  forward 
to  touch  one  of  several  buttons.  To  the  uniformed  mes- 


550          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

senger  who  appeared  he  snapped  out  the  one  word,  "Old- 
ham!"  A  moment  later  the  land  agent  stood  before  the  wide 
mahogany  desk. 

"Orde  has  just  been  here,"  stated  Baker  crisply.  "He 
wanted  to  know  if  I  intended  to  jail  Wei  ton  on  that  old 
bribery  charge.  I  told  him  I  did." 

" How  did  he  take  it?" 

"  As  near  as  I  can  tell  he  is  getting  obstinate.  You  claimed 
very  confidently  you  could  head  off  his  testimony.  Up  to 
date  you  haven't  accomplished  much.  Make  good." 

"Til  head  him  off,"  stated  Oldham  grimly,  "or  put  him 
where  he  belongs.  I've  saved  a  little  persuasion  until  all 
the  rest  had  failed." 

"How?" 

"That  I'll  tell  you  in  time,  but  not  now.  But  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  that  I've  no  reason  to  love  this  Orde  —  or 
any  other  Orde  —  and  I  intend  to  get  even  with  him  on  my 
own  account.  It's  a  personal  and  private  matter,  but  I  have 
a  club  that  will  keep  him." 

"Why  the  secrecy?" 

"It's  an  affair  of  my  own,"  insisted  Oldham,  "but  I  have 
it  on  him.  If  he  attempts  to  testify  as  to  the  Basin  lands, 
I'll  have  him  in  the  penitentiary  in  ten  days." 

"And  if  he  agrees?" 

"Then,"  said  Oldham  quietly,  "I'll  have  him  in  the  pen 
a  little  later  —  after  the  Basin  matter  is  settled  once  and  for 
all." 

Baker  considered  this  a  little. 

"My  judgment  might  be  worth  something  as  to  handling 
this,"  he  suggested. 

"The  matter  is  mine,"  said  Oldham  firmly,  "and  I  must 
choose  my  own  time  and  place." 

"Very  well,"  Baker  acquiesced;  "but  I'd  advise  you  to 
tackle  Orde  at  once.  Time  is  short.  Try  out  your  club  to 
see  if  it  will  work." 

"  It  will  work!"  stated  Oldham  confidently. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          551 

"  Of  course,"  remarked  Baker,  relaxing  abruptly  his  atti- 
tude, physical  and  mental,  and  lighting  a  cigar,  "  of  course, 
it  is  all  very  well  to  yank  the  temples  down  around  the  merry 
Philistines,  but  it  doesn't  do  your  Uncle  Samson  much  good. 
We  can  raise  hell  with  Welton  and  Orde  and  a  half-dozen 
others,  and  we  will,  if  they  push  us  too  hard  —  but  thai 
don't  keep  us  the  Basin  if  this  crazy  reformer  testifies  and 
pulls  in  Welton  to  corroborate  him.  I'd  rather  keep  the 
Basin.  If  we  could  stop  Orde " 

"I'll  stop  him,"  said  Oldham. 

"I  hope,"  said  Baker  impressively,  "that  you  have  more 
than  one  string  to  your  bow.  I  am  not  inquiring  into  your 
methods,  you  understand"  — his  pause  was  so  significantly 
long  at  this  point,  that  Oldham  nodded  —  "  but  your  sole  job  is 
to  keep  Orde  out  of  court" 

Baker  looked  his  agent  squarely  in  the  eye  for  fifteen 
seconds.  Then  abruptly  he  dropped  his  gaze. 

"That's  all,"  said  he,  and  reached  for  some  papers. 


XXIV 

OLDHAM  obeyed  his  principal's  orders  by  joining  Bob 
on  the  train  back  to  the  city.    He  dropped  down 
by  the  young  man's  side,  produced  a  cigar  which  he 
rolled  between  his  lips,  but  did  not  light,  and  at  once  opened 
up  the  subject  of  his  negotiations. 

"I  wish  to  point  out  to  you,  with  your  permission,"  he 
began,  "just  where  you  stand  in  this  matter.  In  the  con- 
fusion and  haste  of  a  busy  time  you  may  not  have  cast  up 
your  accounts.  First,"  he  checked  off  the  point  on  his  long, 
slender  forefinger,  "  in  injuring  Mr.  Baker  in  this  ill-advised 
fashion  you  are  injuring  your  old-time  employer  and  friend, 
Mr.  Welton,  and  this  in  two  ways:  you  are  jeopardizing  his 
whole  business,  and  you  are  rendering  practically  certain 
his  conviction  on  a  criminal  charge.  Mr.  Welton  is  an  old 
man,  a  simple  man,  and  a  kindly  man;  this  thing  is  likely  to 
kill  him."  Oldham  glanced  keenly  at  the  young  man's  som- 
bre face,  and  went  on.  "Second"  —  he  folded  back  his 
middle  finger  —  "you  are  injuring  your  own  father,  also  in 
two  ways:  you  are  bringing  his  lawful  property  into  danger, 
and  you  are  giving  his  political  enemies  the  most  effective 
sort  of  a  weapon  to  swing  in  his  coming  campaign.  And 
do  not  flatter  yourself  they  will  not  make  the  best  of  it.  It 
happens  that  your  father  has  stood  strongly  with  the  Con- 
servation members  in  the  late  fight  in  Congress.  This  would 
be  a  pretty  scandal.  Third,"  said  Oldham,  touching  his  ring 
finger,  "you  are  injuring  yourself.  You  are  throwing  away 
an  opportunity  to  get  in  on  the  ground  floor  with  the  biggest 
man  in  the  West;  you  are  making  for  yourself  a  powerful 
enemy;  and  you  are  indubitably  preparing  the  way  for  your 

552 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          553 

removal  from  office  —  if  removal  from  such  an  office  can 
conceivably  mean  anything  to  any  one."  He  removed  the 
cigar  from  his  mouth,  gazed  at  the  wetted  end,  waited  a 
moment  for  the  young  man  to  comment,  then  replaced  i%  and 
resumed.  "And  fourth,"  he  remarked  closing  his  fist  so  that 
all  fingers  were  concealed.  There  he  stopped  until  Bob  was 
fairly  compelled  to  start  him  on  again. 

"And  fourth "  he  suggested,  therefore. 

"Fourth,"  rapped  out  Oldham,  briskly,  "you  injure 
George  Pollock." 

"George  Pollock!"  echoed  Bob,  trying  vainly  to  throw  a 
tone  of  ingenuous  surprise  into  his  voice. 

"Certainly;  George  Pollock,"  repeated  Oldham.  "I 
arrived  in  Sycamore  Flats  at  the  moment  when  Pollock  mur- 
dered Plant.  I  know  positively  that  you  were  an  eye-wit- 
ness to  the  deed.  If  you  testify  in  one  case,  I  shall  certainly 
call  upon  you  to  testify  in  the  other.  Furthermore,"  he 
turned  his  gray  eyes  on  Bob,  and  for  the  second  time  the 
young  man  was  permitted  to  see  an  implacable  hostility, 
"  although  not  on  the  scene  itself,  I  can  myself  testify,  and  will, 
that  you  held  the  murderer's  horse  during  the  deed,  and 
assisted  Pollock  to  escape.  Furthermore,  I  can  testify,  and 
can  bring  a  competent  witness,  that  while  supposed  to  be 
estimating  Government  timber  in  the  Basin,  you  were  in 
communication  with  Pollock." 

"Saleratus  Bill!"  cried  Bob,  enlightened  as  to  the  trailer's 
recent  activities  in  the  Basin. 

"It  will  be  easy  to  establish  not  only  Pollock's  guilt,  but 
your  own  as  accessory.  That  will  put  you  hard  and  fast 
behind  the  bars  —  where  you  belong." 

In  this  last  speech  Oldham  made  his  one  serious  mistake  of 
the  interview.  So  long  as  he  had  appealed  to  Bob's  feel- 
ings for,  and  sense  of  duty  toward,  other  men,  he  had  suc- 
ceeded well  in  still  further  confusing  the  young  man's  decision. 
But  at  the  direct  personal  threat,  Bob's  combative  spirit 
flared.  Suddenly  his  troubled  mind  was  clarified,  as  though 


554          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Oldham's  menace  had  acted  as  a  chemical  reagent  to  pre- 
cipitate all  his  doubts.  Whatever  the  incidental  hardships, 
right  must  prevail.  And,  as  always,  in  the  uprooting  of  evil, 
some  inlucky  innocent  must  suffer.  It  is  the  hardship  of  life, 
inevitable,  not  to  be  blinked  at  if  a  man  is  to  be  a  man,  and 
do  a  man's  part.  He  leaned  forward  with  so  swift  a  move- 
ment that  Oldham  involuntarily  dodged  back. 

"You  tell  your  boss,"  said  Bob,  "that  nothing  on  God's 
earth  can  keep  me  out  of  court." 

He  threw  away  his  half-smoked  cigar  and  went  back 
to  the  chair  car.  The  sight  of  Oldham  was  intolerable  to 
him. 

The  words  were  said,  and  the  decision  made.  In  his  heart 
he  knew  the  matter  irrevocable.  For  a  few  moments  he 
experienced  a  feeling  of  relief  and  freedom,  as  when  a  swim- 
mer first  gets  his  head  above  the  surf  that  has  tumbled  him. 
These  fine-spun  matters  of  ethical  balance  had  confused  and 
wearied  his  spirit.  He  had  become  bewildered  among  such 
varied  demands  on  his  personal  decision.  It  was  a  comfort 
to  fall  back  on  the  old  straight  rule  of  right  conduct  no  matter 
what  the  consequences.  The  essentials  of  the  situation  were 
not  at  all  altered:  Baker  was  guilty  of  the  rankest  fraud; 
Welton  was  innocent  of  every  evil  intent  and  should  never 
be  punished  for  what  he  had  been  unwillingly  and  doubtfully 
persuaded  to  permit;  Orde  senior  had  acquired  his  lands  quite 
according  to  the  customs  and  ideas  of  the  time;  George 
Pollock  should  have  been  justified  a  thousand  times  over  in 
sight  of  God  and  man.  Those  things  were  to  Bob's  mind 
indisputable.  To  deprive  the  one  man  of  a  very  small  por- 
tion of  his  fraudulently  acquired  property,  it  was  apparently 
necessary  to  punish  three  men  who  should  not  be  punished. 
These  men  were,  furthermore,  all  dear  to  Bob  personally. 
It  did  not  seem  right  that  his  decision  should  plunge  them 
into  undeserved  penalties.  But  now  the  situation  was 
materially  altered.  Bob  also  stood  in  danger  from  his  action. 
He,  too,  must  suffer  with  the  others.  All  were  in  the  same 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          555 

boat.  The  menace  to  his  own  liberty  justified  his  course. 
The  innocent  must  suffer  with  the  guilty;  but  now  the  fact 
that  he  was  one  of  those  who  must  so  suffer,  raised  his  decis- 
ion from  a  choice  to  a  necessity.  Whatever  the  conse- 
quences, the  simplest,  least  perplexing,  most  satisfying  course 
was  to  follow  the  obvious  right.  The  odium  of  ingratitude, 
of  lack  of  affection,  of  disloyalty,  of  self-reproach  was  lifted 
from  him  by  the  very  fact  that  he,  too,  was  one  of  those  who 
must  take  consequences.  In  making  the  personal  threat 
against  the  young  man's  liberty,  Oldham  had,  without  know- 
ing it,  furnished  to  his  soul  the  one  valid  reason  for  going 
ahead,  conscience-clear. 

Though  naturally  Oldham  could  not  follow  out  this  psychol- 
ogy, he  was  shrewd  enough  to  understand  that  he  had  failed. 
This  surprised  him,  for  he  had  entertained  not  the  slightest 
doubt  that  the  threat  of  the  penitentiary  would  bring  Bob 
to  terms. 

On  arriving  in  the  city,  Oldham  took  quarters  at  the 
Buena  Vista  and  sent  for  Saleratus  Bill,  whom  he  had  sum- 
moned by  wire  as  soon  as  he  had  heard  from  that  individual 
of  Bob's  intended  visit  to  Fremont. 

The  spy  arrived  wearing  a  new  broad,  black  hat,  a  cellu- 
loid collar,  a  wrinkled  suit  of  store  clothes,  and  his  same 
shrewd,  evil  leer.  Oldham  did  not  appear,  but  requested 
that  the  visitor  be  shown  into  his  room.  There,  having 
closed  the  transom,  he  issued  his  instructions. 

"  I  want  you  to  pay  attention,  and  not  interrupt,"  said  he. 
"  Within  a  month  a  case  is  coming  up  in  which  Orde,  the 
Forest  man,  is  to  appear  as  witness.  He  must  not  appear. 
I  leave  that  all  to  you,  but,  of  course,  I  want  no  more  than 
necessary  violence.  He  must  be  detained  until  after  the 
trial,  and  for  as  long  after  that  as  I  say.  Understand?" 

"Sure,"  said  Saleratus  Bill.  "But  when  he  comes  back, 
he'll  fix  you  just  the  same." 

"  I'll  see  to  that  part  of  it.  The  case  will  never  be  reopened. 
Now,  mind  you,  no  shooting " 


556          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"There  might  be  an  accident,"  suggested  Saleratus  Bill, 
opening  his  red  eyes  and  staring  straight  at  his  principal. 

"Accidents,"  said  Oldham,  speaking  slowly  and  judicially, 
"are  always  likely  to  happen.  Sometimes  they  can't  be 
helped."  He  paused  to  let  these  words  sink  in. 

Saleratus  Bill  wrinkled  his  eyes  in  an  appreciative  laugh. 
"Accidents  is  of  two  kinds:  lucky  and  unlucky,"  he  remarked 
briefly,  by  way  of  parenthesis. 

"But,  of  course,  it  is  distinctly  understood,"  went  on  Old- 
ham,  as  though  he  had  not  heard,  "that  this  is  your  own 
affair.  You  have  nothing  to  expect  from  me  if  you  get  into 
trouble.  And  if  you  mention  my  name,  you'll  merely  get 
jugged  for  attempted  blackmail." 

Saleratus  Bill's  eyes  flared. 

"Cut  it,"  said  he,  with  a  rasp  in  his  voice. 

"Nevertheless,  that  is  the  case,"  repeated  Oldham, 
unmoved. 

The  flame  slowly  died  from  Saleratus  Bill's  eyes. 

"I'll  want  a  little  raise  for  that  kind  of  a  job,"  said  he. 

"Naturally,"  agreed  Oldham. 

They  entered  into  discussion  of  ways  and  means. 

In  the  meantime  Bob  had  encountered  an  old  friend. 


XXV 

BOB  always  stayed  at  the  Monterosa  Hotel  when  in 
town;  a  circumstance  that  had  sent  Oldham  to  the 
Buena  Vista.  Although  it  wanted  but  a  few  hours 
until  train  time,  he  drifted  around  to  his  customary  stopping 
place,  resolved  to  enjoy  a  quiet  smoke  by  the  great  plate- 
glass  windows  before  which  the  ever-varying  theatre  crowds 
stream  by  from  Main  Street  cars.  He  had  been  thus  settled 
for  some  time,  when  he  heard  his  name  pronounced  by  the 
man  occupying  the  next  chair. 

"Bob  Orde!"  he  cried;  "but  this  is  luck!" 

Bob  looked  around  to  see  an  elderly,  gray-haired,  slender 
man,  of  keen,  intelligent  face,  pure  white  hair  and  moustache, 
in  whom  he  recognized  Mr.  Frank  Taylor,  a  lifelong  friend 
of  his  father's  and  one  of  the  best  lawyers  his  native  state 
had  produced.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  to  grasp  the  older  man's 
hand.  The  unexpected  meeting  was  especially  grateful,  for 
Bob  had  been  long  enough  without  direct  reminders  of  his 
old  home  to  be  hungry  for  them.  Ever  since  he  could  remem- 
ber, the  erect,  military  form  of  Frank  Taylor  had  been  one 
of  the  landmarks  of  memory,  like  the  sword  that  had  belonged 
to  Georgie  Cathcart's  father,  or  like  the  kindly,  homely,  gray 
figure  of  Mr.  Kincaid  in  his  rickety,  two-wheeled  cart  — 
the  man  who  had  given  Bob  his  first  firearm. 

After  first  greetings  and  inquiries,  the  two  men  sank  back 
to  finish  their  smoke  together, 

"  It's  good  to  see  you  again,"  observed  Bob,  "but  I'm  sorry 
your  business  brings  you  out  here  at  this  time  of  year.  This 
is  our  dry  season,  you  know.  Everything  is  brown.  I  like 
it  myself,  as  do  most  Californians,  but  an  Easterner  has  to 

557 


558          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

get  used  to  it.  After  the  rains,  though,  the  country  is  won- 
derful." 

"This  isn't  my  first  trip,"  said  Taylor.  "I  was  out  here 
for  some  months  away  back  in  —  I  think  it  was  '79.  I 
remember  we  went  in  to  Santa  Barbara  on  a  steamer  that 
fired  a  gun  by  way  of  greeting!  Strangely  enough,  the  same 
business  brings  me  here  now." 

"You  are  out  here  on  father's  account?"  hazarded  Bob, 
to  whom  the  year  1879  now  began  to  have  its  significance. 

"Exactly.  Didn't  you  get  your  father's  letter  telling  of 
my  coming?" 

"I've  been  from  headquarters  three  days,"  Bob  explained. 

"I  see.  Well,  he  sent  you  this  message:  'Tell  Bob  to  go 
ahead.  I  can  take  care  of  myself.'" 

"Bully  for  dad!"  cried  Bob,  greatly  heartened. 

"  He  told  me  he  did  not  want  to  advise  you,  but  that  in  the 
old  days  when  a  fight  was  on,  the  spectators  were  supposed  to 
do  their  own  dodging." 

"I'd  about  come  to  that  conclusion,"  said  Bob,  "but  it 
surely  does  me  good  to  feel  that  father's  behind  me  in  it." 

"My  trip  in  '79  —  or  whenever  it  was  —  was  exactly  on 
this  same  muss-up."  Mr.  Taylor  went  on:  "Your  father 
owned  this  timber  land  then,  and  wanted  to  borrow  money  on 
it.  At  the  time  a  rascally  partner  was  trying  to  ruin  him ;  and, 
in  order  to  prevent  his  getting  this  money,  which  would  save 
him,  this  partner  instigated  investigations  and  succeeded 
temporarily  in  clouding  the  title.  Naturally  the  banks 
declined  to  lend  money  on  doubtful  titles;  which  was  all  this 
partner  wanted.*  Perhaps  you  know  all  this  ?  " 

Bob  shook  his  head.  "I  was  a  little  too  young  to  know 
anything  of  business." 

"Your  father  sent  me  out  to  straighten  things.  The  whole 
matter  was  involved  in  endless  red  tape,  obscured  in  every 
ingenious  way  possible.  Although  there  proved  to  be  noth- 
ing to  the  affair,  to  prove  that  fact  took  time,  and  time  was 

*See  "The  Rirerman." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          559 

what  your  father's  partner  was  after.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
failed ;  but  that  was  not  the  result  of  miscalculation.  Now  I 
strongly  suspect  that  your  friend  Baker,  or  his  lawyers,  have 
dug  up  a  lot  of  this  old  evidence  en  the  records  and  are  going 
to  use  it  to  annoy  us.  There  is  nothing  more  in  it  now  than 
there  was  at  the  beginning,  but  it's  colourable  enough  to 
start  a  noisy  suit  on,  and  that's  all  these  fellows  are  after." 

"But  if  it  was  decided  once,  how  can  they  bring  it  up 
again?"  Bob  objected. 

"  It  was  never  brought  to  court.  When  the  delay  had  been 
gained  —  or  rather,  when  I  unravelled  the  whole  matter  — 
it  was  dropped." 

" I  see,"  said  Bob.     "Then  the  titles  are  all  right ? " 

"Every  bit  of  that  tract  is  as  good  as  gold,"  said  Taylor 
impressively.  "Your  father  bought  only  from  men  who 
had  taken  up  land  with  their  own  money.  He  paid  as  high 
as  fifteen  or  sixteen  hundred  dollars  for  claims  where  by 
straight  'colonizing'  he  could  have  had  them  for  three  or 
four  hundred." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Bob.  "But  are  you  sure 
you  can  handle  this?" 

"As  for  a  suit,  they  can  never  win  this  in  the  world,"  said 
Taylor.  "But  that  isn't  the  question.  What  they  want 
is  a  chance  for  big  headlines." 

"Well,  can  you  head  them  off?" 

"I'm  going  to  try,  after  I  look  over  the  situation.  If  I 
can't  head  it  off  completely,  I'll  at  least  be  in  a  position  to 
reply  publicly  at  once.  It  took  me  three  months  to  dig 
this  thing  out,  but  it  won't  take  me  half  an  hour  to  get  it  in  the 
papers." 

"I  should  think  they'd  know  that." 

"I  don't  think  their  lawyer  really  knows  about  it.  As  I 
say,  it  took  me  three  months  to  dig  it  all  out.  My  notion 
is  that  while  they  have  no  idea  they  can  win  the  case,  they 
believe  that  we  did  actually  colonize  the  lands.  In  other 
words,  they  think  they  have  it  on  us  straight  enough.  The 


560          THE1  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

results  of  my  investigations  will  surprise  them.  I'll  keep 
the  thing  out  of  court  if  I  can;  but  in  any  case  we're  ready. 
It  will  be  a  trial  in  the  newspapers." 

"  Well,"  said  Bob, "  you  want  to  get  acquainted  then.  West- 
ern newspapers  are  not  like  those  in  the  East.  They 
certainly  jump  in  with  both  feet  on  any  cause  that  enlists  them 
one  way  or  another.  It  is  a  case  of  no  quarter  to  the  enemy, 
in  headlines,  subheads,  down  to  the  date  —  reading  matter, 
of  course.  They  have  a  powerful  influence,  too,  for  they  are 
very  widely  read." 

"Can  they  be  bought?"  asked  Taylor  shrewdly. 

Bob  glanced  at  him. 

"I  was  thinking  of  the  Power  Company,"  explained 
Taylor. 

"Blessed  if  I  know,"  confessed  Bob;  "but  I  think  not.  I 
disagree  with  them  on  so  many  things  that  I'd  like  to  think 
they  are  bought.  But  they  are  more  often  against  those  apt 
to  buy,  than  for  them.  They  lambaste  impartially  and  with 
a  certain  Irish  delight  in  doing  the  job  thoroughly.  I  must 
say  they  are  not  fair  about  it.  They  hit  a  man  just  as  hard 
when  he  is  down.  What  you  want  to  do  is  to  be  better  news 
than  Baker." 

"I'll  be  all  of  that,"  promised  Taylor,  "if  it  comes  to 
a  newspaper  trial." 

Bob  glanced  at  his  watch  and  jumped  to  his  feet  with  an 
exclamation  of  dismay. 

"I've  five  minutes  to  get  to  the  station,"  he  said.  " Good- 
bye." 

He  rushed  out  of  the  hotel,  caught  a  car,  ran  a  block  — 
and  arrived  in  time  to  see  the  tail  lights  slipping  away.  He 
had  to  wait  until  the  morning  train,  but  that  mattered  little 
to  him  now.  His  wait  and  the  journey  back  to  the  mountains 
were  considerably  lightened  by  this  partial  relief  of  the  situa- 
tion. At  the  first  sign  of  trouble  his  father  had  taken  the 
field  to  fight  out  his  own  fights.  That  much  responsibility 
was  lifted  from  Bob's  shoulders.  He  might  have  known! 

Of  the  four  dangerous  elements  of  his  problem  one  was 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          561 

thus  unexpectedly,  almost  miraculously,  relieved.  Re- 
mained, however,  poor  Welton's  implication  in  the  brib- 
ery matter,  and  Pollock's  danger.  Bob  could  not  count  in 
himself.  If  he  could  only  relieve  the  others  of  the  conse- 
quences of  his  action,  he  could  face  his  own  trouble  with  a 
stout  heart. 

At  White  Oaks  he  was  forced  to  wait  for  the  next  stage. 
This  put  him  twenty-four  hours  behind,  and  he  was  inclined 
to  curse  his  luck.  Had  he  only  known  it,  no  better  fortune 
could  have  fallen  him.  The  news  came  down  the  line  that 
the  stage  he  would  have  taken  had  been  held  up  by  a  lone 
highwayman  just  at  the  top  of  Flour  Gold  grade.  As  the 
vehicle  carried  only  an  assortment  of  perishable  fruit  and 
three  Italian  labourers,  for  the  dam,  the  profits  from  the 
transaction  were  not  extraordinary.  The  sheriff  and  a  posse 
at  once  set  out  in  pursuit.  Their  efforts  at  overtaking  the 
highwayman  were  unavailing,  for  the  trail  soon  ran  out  over 
the  rocky  and  brushy  ledges,  and  the  fugitive  had  been 
clever  enough  to  sprinkle  some  of  his  tracks  liberally  with 
red  pepper  to  baffle  the  dogs.  The  sheriff  made  a  hard  push 
of  it,  however,  and  for  one  day  held  closely  enough  on  the 
trail.  Bob's  journey  to  Sycamore  Flats  took  place  on  this 
one  day  —  during  which  Saleratus  Bill  was  too  busy  dodg- 
ing his  pursuers  to  resume  a  purpose  which  Bob's  delay  had 
frustrated. 

On  arriving  at  Auntie  Belle's,  Bob  resolved  to  push  on 
up  the  mountain  that  very  night,  instead  of  waiting  as  usual 
until  the  following  morning.  Accordingly,  after  supper,  he 
saddled  his  horse,  collected  the  camp  mail,  and  set  himself 
in  motion  up  the  steep  road. 

Before  he  had  passed  Fern  Falls,  the  twilight  was  falling. 
Hermit  thrushes  sang  down  through  the  cooling  forest. 
From  the  side  hill,  exposed  all  the  afternoon  to  the  California 
summer  sun,  rose  tepid  odours  of  bear-clover  and  snowbush, 
which  exhaled  out  into  space,  giving  way  to  the  wandering, 
faint  perfumes  of  night.  Bob  took  off  his  hat,  and  breathed 


562         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

deep,  greatly  refreshed  after  the  long,  hot  stage  ride  of  the 
day.  Darkness  fell.  In  the  forest  the  strengthening  moon- 
light laid  its  wand  upon  familiar  scenes  to  transform  them. 
New  aisles  opened  down  the  woodlands,  aisles  at  the  end  of 
which  stood  silvered,  ghostly  trees  thus  distinguished  by  the 
moonbeams  from  their  unnumbered  brethren.  The  whole 
landscape  became  ghostly,  full  of  depths  and  shadows,  mys- 
teries and  allurements,  heights  and  spaces  unknown  to  the 
more  prosaic  day.  Landmarks  were  lost  in  the  velvet  dark; 
new  features  sprang  into  prominence.  Were  it  not  for  the 
wagon  trail,  Bob  felt  that  in  this  strange,  enchanted,  unfamil- 
iar land  he  might  easily  have  become  lost.  His  horse  plodded 
mechanically  on.  One  by  one  he  passed  the  homely  roadside 
landmarks,  exempt  from  the  necromancies  of  the  moon  — 
the  pile  of  old  cedar  posts,  split  heaven  knows  when,  by 
heaven  knows  whom,  and  thriftlessly  abandoned;  the  water 
trough,  with  the  brook  singing  by;  the  S  turn  by  the  great 
boulders;  the  narrow  defile  of  the  Devil's  Grade  —  and  then, 
still  under  the  spell  of  the  night,  Bob  surmounted  the  ridge 
to  look  out  over  the  pine-clad  plateau  slumbering  dead- 
still  under  the  soft  radiance  of  the  moon. 

He  rode  the  remaining  distance  to  headquarters  at  a 
brisker  pace.  As  he  approached  the  little  meadow,  and  the 
group  of  buildings  dark  and  silent,  he  raised  joyously  the  wild 
hallo  of  the  late-comer  with  mail.  Immediately  lights  were 
struck.  A  moment  later,  by  the  glimmer  of  a  lantern,  he  was 
distributing  the  coveted  papers,  letters  and  magazines  to  the 
half-dressed  group  that  surrounded  him.  Amy  summoned 
him  to  bring  her  share.  He  delivered  it  to  the  hand  and  arm 
extended  from  the  low  window. 

"You  must  be  nearly  dead,"  said  Amy,  "after  that  long 
stage  ride  —  to  come  right  up  the  mountain." 

"It's  the  finest  sort  of  a  night,"  said  Bob.  "I  wouldn't 
have  missed  it  for  anything.  It's  H-O-T,  hot.  down  at  the 
Flats.  This  ride  just  saved  my  life." 

This  might  have  been  truer  than  Bob  had  thought,  for  at 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          563 

almost  that  very  moment  Saleratus  Bill,  having  success- 
fully shaken  off  his  pursuers,  was  making  casual  and  guarded 
inquiries  at  Austin's  saloon.  When  he  heard  that  Orde 
had  arrived  at  the  Flats  on  the  evening's  stage,  he  mani- 
fested some  satisfaction.  The  next  morning,  however,  that 
satisfaction  vanished,  for  only  then  he  learned  that  the  young 
man  must  be  already  safe  at  headquarters. 


XXVI 

IN  delivering  his  instructions  to  Oldham,  Baker  had,  of 
course,  no  thought  of  extreme  measures.  Indeed, 
had  the  direct  question  been  put  to  him,  he  would  most 
strongly  and  emphatically  have  forbidden  them.  Neverthe- 
less, he  was  glad  to  leave  his  intentions  vague,  feeling  that 
in  thus  wilfully  shutting  his  eyes  he  might  avoid  personal 
responsibility  for  what  might  happen.  He  had  every  con- 
fidence that  Oldham  —  a  man  of  more  than  average  cultiva- 
tion—  while  he  might  contemplate  lawlessness,  was  of  too 
high  an  order  to  consider  physical  violence.  Baker  was 
inclined  to  believe  that  on  mature  reflection  Bob  would  yield 
to  the  accumulation  of  influence  against  him.  If  not,  Old- 
ham  intimated  with  no  uncertain  confidence,  that  he  pos- 
sessed information  of  a  sort  to  coerce  the  Forest  officer  into 
silence.  If  that  in  turn  proved  unavailing  —  a  contingency, 
it  must  be  remembered  that  Baker  hardly  thought  worth 
entertainment  —  why,  then,  in  some  one  of  a  thousand  per- 
fectly legal  ways  Oldham  could  entangle  the  chief  witness 
into  an  enforced  absence  from  the  trial.  This  sort  of  man- 
oeuvre was,  later,  actually  carried  out  in  the  person  of  Mr. 
Fremont  Older,  a  witness  in  the  graft  prosecutions  of  San 
Francisco.  In  short,  Baker's  intentions,  while  desperately 
illegal,  contemplated  no  personal  harm  to  their  victim.  He 
gave  as  general  orders  to  his  subordinate:  "Keep  Orde's 
testimony  out  of  court";  and  shrugged  off  minute  responsi- 
bilities. 

This  command,  filtered  through  a  second  and  inimical 
personality,  gained  in  strength.  Oldham  was  not  of  a  tem- 
perament to  contemplate  murder.  His  nerves  were  too 

564 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          565 

refined;  his  training  too  conventional;  his  imagination  too 
developed.  He,  too,  resolutely  kept  his  intentions  a  trifle 
vague.  If  Orde  persisted,  then  he  must  be  kidnapped  for  a 
time. 

But  Saleratus  Bill,  professional  gun-man,  well  paid,  took 
his  instructions  quite  brutally.  In  literal  and  bald  state- 
ment he  closed  the  circle  and  returned  to  Baker's  very  words : 
"Keep  Orde's  testimony  out  of  court."  Only  in  this  case 
Saleratus  Bill  read  into  the  simple  command  a  more  sinister 
meaning. 

The  morning  after  his  return  from  the  lower  country, 
Bob  saddled  up  to  ride  over  to  the  mill.  He  wished  to  tell 
Welton  of  his  meeting  Taylor;  and  to  consult  him  on  the  best 
course  to  pursue  in  regard  to  the  bribery  charges.  With 
daylight  many  of  his  old  perplexities  had  returned.  He  rode 
along  so  deep  in  thought  that  the  only  impression  reaching 
him  from  the  external  world  was  one  of  the  warmth  of  the  sun. 

Suddenly  a  narrow  shadow  flashed  by  his  eyes.  Before  his 
consciousness  could  leap  from  its  inner  contemplation,  his 
arms  were  pulled  flat  to  his  sides,  a  shock  ran  through  him  as 
though  he  had  received  a  heavy  blow,  and  he  was  jerked 
backward  from  his  horse  to  hit  the  ground  with  great 
violence. 

The  wind  was  knocked  from  his  body,  so  that  for  five 
seconds,  perhaps,  he  was  utterly  confused.  Before  he  could 
gather  himself,  or  even  comprehend  what  had  happened,  a 
heavy  weight  flung  itself  upon  him.  The  beginnings  of 
his  feeble  struggles  were  unceremoniously  subdued.  When, 
in  another  ten  seconds,  his  vision  had  cleared,  he  found  him- 
self bound  hand  and  foot.  Saleratus  Bill  stood  over  him, 
slowly  recoiling  the  riata,  or  throwing  rope,  with  which  he 
had  so  dexterously  caught  Bob  from  behind.  After  contem- 
plating his  victim  for  a  moment,  Saleratus  Bill  mounted  his 
own  animal,  and  disappeared. 

Bob,  his  head  humming  from  the  violence  of  its  impact  with 
the  ground,  listened  until  the  hoof  beats  had  ceased  to  jar 


566  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

the  earth.  Then  with  a  methodical  desperation  he  began  to 
wrench  and  work  at  his  bonds.  All  his  efforts  were  useless; 
Saleratus  Bill  understood  "hog- tying"  too  well.  When, 
finally,  he  had  convinced  himself  that  he  could  not  get  away, 
Bob  gave  over  his  efforts.  The  forest  was  very  still  and 
warm.  After  a  time  the  sun  fell  upon  him,  and  he  began 
to  feel  its  heat  uncomfortably.  The  affair  was  inexplicable. 
He  began  to  wonder  whether  Saleratus  Bill  intended  leaving 
him  there  a  prey  to  what  fortune  chance  might  bring. 
Although  the  odds  were  a  hundred  to  one  against  his  being 
heard,  he  shouted  several  times.  About  as  he  had  begun  once 
more  to  struggle  against  his  bonds,  his  captor  returned, 
leading  Bob's  horse,  and  cursing  audibly  over  the  difficulty 
he  had  been  put  to  in  catching  it. 

Ignoring  Bob's  indignant  demands,  the  gun-man  loosed 
his  ankles,  taking,  however,  the  precaution  of  throwing  the 
riata  over  the  young  man's  shoulders. 

"Climb  your  horse,"  he  commanded  briefly. 

"How  do  you  expect  me  to  do  that,  with  my  hands  tied 
behind  me?"  demanded  Bob. 

"I  don't  know.  Just  do  it,  and  be  quick,"  replied  Saler- 
atus Bill. 

Bob's  horse  was  nervous  and  restive.  Three  times  he 
dropped  his  master  heavily  to  earth.  Then  Saleratus  Bill, 
his  evil  eye  wary,  extended  a  helping  hand.  This  was  what 
Bob  was  hoping  for;  but  the  gun-man  was  too  wily  and 
experienced  to  allow  himself  within  the  captive's  fettered 
reach. 

When  Bob  had  finally  gained  his  saddle,  Saleratus  Bill, 
leading  the  horse,  set  off  at  a  rapid  pace  cross  country.  To 
all  of  Bob's  questions  and  commands  he  turned  a  deaf  ear, 
until,  finally,  seeing  it  was  useless  to  ask,  Bob  fell  silent. 
Only  once  did  he  pause,  and  then  to  breathe  and  water  the 
horses.  The  country  through  which  they  passed  was  unfa- 
miliar to  Bob.  He  knew  only  that  they  were  going  north, 
and  were  keeping  to  westward  of  the  Second  Ranges. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  567 

Late  that  evening  Saleratus  Bill  halted  for  the  night  at  a 
little  meadow.  He  fed  Bob  a  thick  sandwich,  and  offered 
him  a  cup  of  water;  after  which  he  again  shackled  the  young 
man's  ankles,  bound  his  elbows,  and  attached  the  helpless 
form  to  a  tree.  Bob  spent  the  night  in  this  case,  covered  only 
by  his  saddle  blanket.  The  cords  cut  into  his  swelled  flesh, 
the  retarded  circulation  pricked  him  cruelly.  He  slept  little. 
At  early  dawn  his  captor  offered  him  the  same  fare.  By  sun- 
up they  were  under  way  again. 

All  that  day  they  angled  to  the  northwest,  The  pine 
forests  gave  way  to  oaks,  buckthorn,  chaparral,  as  they 
entered  lower  country.  Several  times  Saleratus  Bill  made 
long  detours  to  avoid  clearings  and  ranches.  Bob,  in  spite 
of  his  strength  and  the  excellence  of  his  condition,  reeled 
from  sheer  weariness  and  pain.  They  made  no  stop  at 
noon. 

At  two  o'clock,  or  so,  they  left  the  last  ranch  and  began 
once  more  leisurely  to  climb.  The  slope  was  gentle.  A 
badly  washed  and  eroded  wagon  grade  led  them  on.  It  had 
not  been  used  for  years.  The  horses,  now  very  tired,  plodded 
on  dispiritedly. 

Then,  with  the  suddenness  of  a  shift  of  scenery,  they 
topped  what  seemed  to  be  a  trifling  rounded  hill.  On  the 
other  side  the  slope  dropped  sheer  away.  Opposite  and  to 
north  and  south  were  the  ranks  of  great  mountains,  some 
dark  with  the  blue  of  atmosphere  before  pines,  others  glitter- 
ing with  snow.  Directly  beneath,  almost  under  him,  Bob 
saw  a  valley. 

It  was  many  thousand  feet  below,  mathematically  round, 
and  completely  surrounded  by  lofty  mountains.  Indeed, 
already  evening  had  there  spread  its  shadows,  although  to 
the  rest  of  the  world  the  sun  was  still  hours  high.  Through 
it  flowed  a  river.  From  the  height  it  looked  like  a  piece  of 
translucent  green  glass  in  the  still  depths;  like  cotton-wool 
where  the  rapids  broke;  for  the  great  distance  robbed  it  of  all 
motion.  This  stream  issued  from  a  gorge  and  flowed  into 


568          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

another,  both  so  narrow  that  the  lofty  mountains  seemed 
fairly  to  close  them  shut. 

Through  the  clear  air  of  the  Sierras  this  valley  looked 
like  a  toy,  a  miniature.  Every  detail  was  distinct.  Bob 
made  out  very  plainly  the  pleasant  trees,  and  a  bridge  over 
the  river,  and  the  roofs  of  many  houses,  and  the  streets  of  a 
little  town. 

To  the  left  the  wagon  road  dropped  away  down  the  steep 
side  of  the  mountain.  Bob's  eye  could  follow  it,  at  first  a 
band,  then  a  ribbon,  finally  a  tiny  white  thread,  as  it  wound 
and  zigzagged,  seeking  its  contours,  until  finally  it  ran  out  on 
the  level  and  rested  at  the  bridge  end.  Opposite,  on  the  other 
mountain,  he  thought  to  make  out  here  and  there  faint 
suggestions  of  another  way. 

Though  his  eye  thus  embraced  at  a  glance  the  whole 
length  of  the  route,  Bob  found  it  a  two-hours'  journey  down. 
Always  the  walls  of  the  mountains  rose  higher  and  higher 
above  him,  gaining  in  majesty  and  awe  as  he  abandoned 
to  them  the  upper  air.  Always  the  round  valley  grew  larger, 
losing  its  toy-like  character.  Its  features  became,  not  more 
distinct,  but  more  detailed.  Bob  saw  the  streets  of  the  town 
were  pleasantly  shaded  by  cotton  woods  and  willows;  he  dis- 
tinguished dwelling  houses,  a  store,  an  office  building,  a  mill 
building  for  crushing  of  ore.  The  roar  of  the  river  came  up  to 
him  more  clearly.  As  though  some  power  had  released  the 
magic  of  the  stream,  the  water  now  moved.  Rushing  foam 
and  white  water  tumbled  over  the  black  and  shining  rocks: 
deep  pools  eddied,  dark  and  green,  shot  with  swirls. 

As  it  became  increasingly  evident  that  the  road  could  lead 
nowhere  but  through  this  village,  Bob's  spirits  rose.  The 
place  was  well  built.  Bob  caught  the  shimmer  of  ample 
glass  in  the  windows,  the  colour  of  paint  on  the  boards,  and 
even  the  ordered  rectangles  of  brick  chimneys!  Evidently 
these  things  must  have  been  freighted  in  over  the  devious 
steep  grade  he  was  at  that  moment  descending.  Bob  well 
knew  that,  even  nearer  the  source  of  supplies,  such  mining 


Bob  found  it  two  hours'  journey  down 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME         569 

camps  as  this  appeared  to  be  were  most  often  but  a  collec- 
tion of  rude,  unpainted  shanties,  huddled  together  for  a  tem- 
porary need.  The  orderly,  well-kept,  decent  appearance  of 
this  hamlet,  more  like  a  shaded  New  England  village  than 
a  Western  camp,  argued  old  establishment,  prosperity,  and 
self-respect.  The  inhabitants  could  be  no  desperate  fly-by- 
nights,  such  as  Saleratus  Bill  would  most  likely  have  sought 
as  companions.  Bob  made  up  his  mind  that  the  gun-man 
would  shortly  try  to  threaten  him  into  a  temporary  secrecy 
as  to  the  condition  of  affairs.  This  Bob  instantly  resolved 
to  refuse. 

Saleratus  Bill,  however,  rode  on  in  an  unbroken  silence. 
Long  after  the  brawl  of  the  river  had  become  deafening,  the 
road  continued  to  dip  and  descend.  It  is  a  peculiar  phe- 
nomenon incidental  to  the  descent  of  the  sheer  canons  of  the 
Sierra  Nevada  that  the  last  few  hundred  feet  down  seem 
longer  than  the  thousands  already  passed.  This  is  prob- 
ably because,  having  gained  close  to  the  level  of  the  tree-tops, 
the  mind,  strung  taut  to  the  long  descent,  allows  itself  pre- 
maturely to  relax  its  attention.  Bob  turned  in  his  saddle 
to  look  back  at  the  grade.  He  could  not  fail  to  reflect  on  how 
lucky  it  was  that  the  inhabitants  of  this  village  could  haul 
their  materials  and  supplies  down  the  road.  It  would  have 
been  prohibitively  difficult  to  drag  anything  up. 

After  a  wearisome  time  the  road  at  last  swung  out  on  the 
flat,  and  so  across  the  meadow  to  the  bridge.  Feed  was 
belly  deep  to  the  horses.  The  bridge  proved  to  be  a  sus- 
pension affair  of  wire  cables,  that  swung  alarmingly  until 
the  horses  had  to  straddle  in  order  to  stand  at  all.  Below 
it  boiled  the  river,  swirling,  dashing,  turning  lazily  and 
mysteriously  over  its  glass-green  depths,  the  shimmers  and 
folds  of  eddies  rising  and  swaying  like  air  currents  made 
visible. 

They  climbed  out  on  solid  ground.  The  road  swung  to 
the  left  and  back,  following  a  contour  to  the  slight  elevation 
on  which  the  houses  stood.  Saleratus  Bill,  however,  turned 


570          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

up  a  brief  short-cut,  which  landed  them  immediately  on  the 
main  street. 

Bob  saw  two  stores,  an  office  building  and  a  small  hotel, 
shaded  by  wooden  awnings.  Beyond  them,  and  opposite 
them,  were  substantial  bunk  houses  and  dwelling  nouses, 
painted  red,  each  with  its  elevated,  roofed  verandah.  Large 
trees,  on  either  side,  threw  a  shade  fairly  across  the  thorough- 
fare. An  iron  pump  and  water  trough  in  front  of  the  hotel 
saved  the  wayfarer  from  the  necessity  of  riding  his  animals 
down  to  the  river.  The  vista  at  the  end  of  the  street  showed 
a  mill  building  on  a  distant  mountain  side,  with  the  rabbit- 
burrow  dumps  of  many  shafts  and  prospect  holes  all  about  it. 

They  rode  up  the  street  past  two  or  three  of  the  houses, 
the  hotel  and  the  office.  Bob,  peering  in  through  the  win- 
dows, saw  tables  and  chairs,  old  chromos  and  newer  litho- 
graphs on  the  walls.  Under  the  tree  at  the  side  of  the  hotel 
hung  a  water  olla  with  a  porcelain  cup  atop.  Near  the  back 
porch  stood  a  screen  meat  safe. 

But  not  a  soul  was  in  sight.  The  street  was  deserted, 
the  houses  empty,  the  office  unoccupied.  As  they  proceeded 
Bob  expected  from  one  moment  to  the  next  to  see  a  door  open, 
a  figure  saunter  around  a  corner.  Save  for  the  jays  and 
squirrels,  the  place  was  absolutely  empty. 

For  some  minutes  the  full  realization  of  this  fact  was  slow 
in  coming.  The  village  exhibited  none  of  the  symptoms  of 
abandonment.  The  window  glass  was  whole;  the  furniture 
of  such  houses  as  Bob  had  glanced  into  while  passing  stood 
in  its  accustomed  places.  A  few  strokes  of  the  broom  might 
have  made  any  one  of  them  immediately  fit  for  habitation. 
The  place  looked  less  deserted  than  asleep;  like  one  of  the 
enchanted  palaces  so  dear  to  tales  of  magic.  It  would  not 
have  seemed  greatly  wonderful  to  Bob  to  have  seen  the 
town  spring  suddenly  to  life  in  obedience  to  some  spell.  If 
the  mill  stamps  in  the  distant  crusher  had  creaked  and  begun 
to  pound;  if  dogs  had  rushed  barking  around  corners  and 
from  under  porches;  if  from  the  hotel  mine  host  had  emerged, 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  571 

yawning  and  rubbing  his  eyes;  if  from  the  shops  and  offices 
and  houses  had  issued  the  slow,  grumbling  sounds  of  life 
awakening,  it  would  all  have  seemed  natural  and  to  be 
expected.  Under  the  influence  of  this  strange  effect  a  deathly 
stillness  seemed  to  fall,  in  spite  of  the  bawling  and  roaring 
of  the  river,  and  the  trickle  of  many  streamlets  hurrying  down 
from  the  surrounding  hills. 

So  extraordinary  was  this  effect  of  suspended  animation 
that  Bob  again  essayed  his  surly  companion. 

"What  place  do  you  call  this?"  he  inquired. 

Saleratus  Bill  had  dismounted,  and  was  stretching  his  long, 
lean  arms  over  his  head.  Evidently  he  considered  this  the 
end  of  the  long  and  painful  journey,  and  as  evidently  he  was, 
in  his  relief,  inclined  to  be  better  natured. 

11  Busted  minin'  camp  called  Bright's  Cove,"  said  he; 
"  they  took  about  ten  million  dollars  out  of  here  before  she 
bust." 

"How  long  ago  was  that?"  asked  Bob. 

"Ten  year  or  so." 

The  young  man  gazed  about  him  in  amazement.  The 
place  looked  as  though  it  might  have  been  abandoned  the 
month  before.  In  his  subsequent  sojourn  he  began  more 
accurately  to  gauge  the  reasons  for  this.  Here  were  no  small 
boys  to  hurl  the  casual  pebble  through  the  delightfully  shim- 
mering glass;  here  was  no  dust  to  be  swirled  into  crevices 
and  angles,  no  wind  to  carry  it;  to  this  remote  cove  pene- 
trated no  vandals  to  rob,  mutilate  or  wantonly  disfigure;  and 
the  elevation  of  the  valley's  floor  was  low  enough  even  to 
avoid  the  crushing  weights  of  snow  that  every  winter  brought 
to  the  peaks  around  it.  Only  the  squirrels,  the  birds  and  the 
tiny  wood  rats  represented  in  their  little  way  the  forces  of 
destruction.  Furthermore,  the  difficulties  of  transportation 
absolutely  precluded  moving  any  of  the  small  property  whose 
absence  so  strongly  impresses  the  desertion  of  a  building. 
When  Bright's  Cove  moved,  it  had  merely  to  shut  the  front 
door.  In  some  cases  it  did  not  shut  the  front  door. 


572          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Saleratus  Bill  assisted  Bob  from  the  saddle.  This  had 
become  necessary,  for  the  long  ride  in  bonds  had  so  cramped 
and  stiffened  the  young  man  that  he  was  unable  to  help  him- 
self. Indeed,  he  found  he  could  not  stand.  Saleratus  Bill, 
after  looking  at  him  shrewdly,  untied  his  hands. 

"I  guess  you're  safe  enough  for  now,"  said  he. 

Bob's  wrists  were  swollen,  and  his  arms  so  stiff  he  could 
hardly  use  them.  Saleratus  Bill  paused  in  throwing  the 
saddles  off  the  wearied  animals. 

"Look  here,"  said  he  gruffly;  "if  you  pass  yore  word  you 
won't  try  to  get  away  or  make  no  fight,  I'll  turn  you  loose." 

"I'll  promise  you  that  for  to-night,  anyway,"  returned 
Bob  quickly. 

Saleratus  Bill  immediately  cast  the  ropes  into  a  corner 
of  the  verandah. 


XXVII 

THE  shadows  of  evening  were  falling  when  Saleratus 
Bill  returned  from  pasturing  the  wearied  horses. 
Bob  had  been  too  exhausted  to  look  about  him,  even 
to  think.  From  a  cache  the  gun-man  produced  several  bags  of 
food  and  a  side  of  bacon.  Evidently  Bright's  Cove  was  one 
of  his  familiar  haunts.  After  a  meal  which  Bob  would  have 
enjoyed  more  had  he  not  been  so  dead  weary,  his  captor 
motioned  him  to  one  of  the  bunks.  Only  too  glad  for  an 
opportunity  to  rest,  Bob  tumbled  in,  clothes  and  all. 

About  midnight  he  half  roused,  feeling  the  mountain  chill. 
He  groped  instinctively;  his  hand  encountered  a  quilt, 
which  he  drew  around  his  shoulders. 

When  he  awoke  it.  was  broad  daylight.  A  persistent  dis- 
comfort which  had  for  an  hour  fought  with  his  drowsiness 
for  the  ascendancy,  now  disclosed  itself  as  a  ligature  tying  his 
elbows  at  the  back.  Evidently  Saleratus  Bill  had  taken  this 
precaution  while  the  young  man  slept.  Bob  could  still  use 
his  hands  and  wrists,  after  a  fashion;  he  could  walk  about 
but  he  would  be  unable  to  initiate  any  effective  offence.  The 
situation  was  admirably  analogous  to  that  of  a  hobbled  horse. 
Moreover,  the  bonds  were  apparently  of  some  broad,  soft 
substance  like  sacking  or  harness  webbing,  so  that,  after 
Bob  had  moved  from  his  constrained  position,  they  did  not 
excessively  discommode  him. 

He  had  no  means  of  guessing  what  the  hour  might  be, 
and  no  sounds  reached  him  from  the  other  parts  of  the  house. 
His  muscles  were  sore  and  bruised.  For  some  time  he  was 
quite  content  to  lie  on  his  side,  thinking  matters  over. 

From  his  knowledge  of  the  connection  between  Baker  and 

573 


574          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Oldham,  Oldham  and  his  captor,  Bob  had  no  doubt  as  to  the 
purpose  of  his  abduction;  nor  did  he  fail  to  guess  that  now, 
with  the  chief  witness  out  of  the  way,  the  trial  would  be  hur- 
ried where  before  it  had  been  delayed.  Personally  he  had 
little  to  fear  beyond  a  detention  —  unless  he  should 
attempt  to  escape,  or  unless  a  searching  party  might  blunder 
on  his  traces.  Bob  had  already  made  up  his  mind  to  use  his 
best  efforts  to  get  away.  As  to  the  probabilities  of  a  rescue 
blundering  on  this  retreat,  he  had  no  means  of  guessing;  but 
he  shrewdly  concluded  that  Saleratus  Bill  was  taking  no 
chances. 

That  individual  now  entered ;  and,  seeing  his  captive  awake, 
gruffly  ordered  him  to  rise.  Bob  found  an  abundant  break- 
fast ready,  to  which  he  was  able  to  do  full  justice.  In  the 
course  of  the  meal  he  made  several  attempts  on  his  jailer's 
taciturnity,  but  without  success.  Saleratus  Bill  met  all  his 
inquiries,  open  and  guarded,  with  a  sullen  silence  or  evasive, 
curt  replies. 

"It  don't  noways  matter  why  you're  here,  or  how  you're 
here.  You  are  here,  and  that's  all  there's  to  it." 

"How  long  do  I  stay?" 

"Until  I  get  ready  to  let  you  go." 

"How  can  you  get  word  from  Mr.  Oldham  when  to  let  me 
off?  "asked  Bob. 

But  Saleratus  Bill  refused  to  rise  to  the  bait. 

"  I'll  let  you  go  when  I  get  ready,"  he  repeated. 

Bob  was  silent  for  some  time. 

"You  know  this  lets  me  off  from  my  promise,"  said  he, 
nodding  backward  toward  his  elbows.  "I'll  get  away  if  I 
can." 

Saleratus  Bill,  for  the  first  time,  permitted  himself  a  smile. 

"There's  two  ways  out  of  this  place,"  said  he  —  "where 
we  come  in,  and  over  north  on  the  trail.  You  can  see  every 
inch  —  both  ways  —  from  here.  Besides,  don't  make  no 
mistakes.  I'll  shoot  you  if  you  make  a  break." 

Bob  nodded. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  575 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  he. 

As  though  to  convince  Bob  of  the  utter  helplessness  of 
any  attempt,  Saleratus  Bill,  leaving  the  dishes  unwashed, 
led  the  way  in  a  tour  of  the  valley.  Save  where  .the  wagon 
road  descended  and  where  the  steep  side  hill  of  the  north 
wall  arose,  the  boundaries  were  utterly  precipitous.  From 
a  narrow  gorge,  flanked  by  water-smoothed  rock  aprons,  the 
river  boiled  between  glassy  perpendicular  cliffs. 

"  There  ain't  no  swimming-holes  in  that  there  river,''' 
remarked  Saleratus  Bill  grimly. 

Bob,  leaning  forward,  could  just  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
torrent  raging  and  buffeting  in  the  narrow  box  canon,  above 
which  the  mountains  rose  tremendous.  No  stream  growths 
had  any  chance  there.  The  place  was  water  and  rock  — 
nothing  more.  In  the  valley  itself  willows  and  alders, 
well  out  of  reach  of  high  water,  offered  a  partial  screen  to- 
soften  the  savage  vista. 

The  round  valley  itself,  however,  was  beautiful.  Ripen- 
ing grasses  grew  shoulder  high.  Shady  trees  swarmed  with 
birds.  Bees  and  other  insects  hummed  through  the  sun- 
warmed  air. 

In  vain  Bob  looked  about  him  for  the  horses,  or  for  signs 
of  them.  They  were  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Saleratus  Bill, 
reading  his  perplexity,  grinned  sardonically. 

"Yore  friends  might  come  in  here,"  said  he,  evidently  not 
unwilling  to  expose  to  Bob  the  full  hopelessness  of  the  latter's 
case.  "And  if  so,  they  can  trail  us  in;  and  then  trail  us 
out  again!"  He  pointed  to  the  lacets  of  the  trail  up  the 
north  wall.  He  grinned  again.  "You  and  I'd  just  crawl 
down  a  mile  of  mine  shaft." 

Having  thus,  to  his  satisfaction,  impressed  Bob  with  the 
utter  futility  of  an  attempt  to  escape,  Saleratus  Bill  led  the 
way  back  to  the  deserted  village.  There  he  turned  delib- 
erately on  his  captive. 

"Now,  young  feller,  you  listen  to  me,"  said  he.  "Don't 
you  try  no  monkey  business.  There  won't  be  no  ques- 


576          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

tions  asked,  none  whatever.  As  long  as  you  set  and  look  at 
the  scenery,  you  won't  come  to  no  harm;  but  the  minute  you 
make  even  a  bluff  at  gettin'  funny  —  even  if  yore  sorry  the 
next  minute  —  I'll  shoot.  And  don't  you  never  forget 
and  try  to  get  nearer  to  me  than  three  paces.  Don't  forget 
that!  I  don't  rightly  want  to  hurt  you;  but  I'd  just  as  leave 
shoot  you  as  anybody  else." 

To  this  view  of  the  situation  Bob  gave  the  expected 
assent. 

The  next  three  days  were  ones  of  routine.  Saleratus  Bill 
spent  his  time  rolling  brown-paper  cigarettes  at  a  spot  that 
commanded  both  trails.  Bob  was  instructed  to  keep  in  sight. 
He  early  discovered  the  cheering  fact  that  trout  were  to  be 
had  in  the  glass-green  pools;  and  so  spent  hours  awkwardly 
manipulating  an  improvised  willow  pole  equipped  with  the 
short  line  and  the  Brown  Hackle  without  which  no  moun- 
taineer ever  travels  the  Sierras.  His  bound  elbows  and  the 
crudity  of  his  tackle  lost  him  many  fish.  Still,  he  caught 
enough  for  food;  and  his  mind  was  busy. 

Canvassing  the  possibilities,  Bob  could  not  but  admit  that 
Saleratus  Bill  knew  his  job.  The  river  was  certain  death, 
and  led  nowhere  except  into  mysterious  and  awful  granite 
gorges;  the  outlets  by  roads  were  well  in  sight.  For  one 
afternoon  Bob  seriously  contemplated  hazarding  a  personal 
encounter.  He  conceived  that  in  some  manner  he  could  get 
rid  of  his  bonds  at  night;  that  Saleratus  Bill  must  necessarily 
sleep ;  and  that  there  might  be  a  chance  to  surprise  the  gun- 
man then.  But  when  night  came,  Saleratus  Bill  disappeared 
into  the  outer  darkness;  nor  did  he  return  until  morning. 
He  might  have  spent  the  hours  camped  under  the  trees  of 
the  more  remote  meadow,  whence  in  the  brilliant  moonlight 
he  could  keep  tabs  on  the  trails,  or  he  might  be  lying  near  at 
hand;  Bob  had  no  means  of  telling.  Certainly,  again  the 
young  man  reluctantly  acknowledged  to  himself,  Saleratus 
Bill  knew  his  job! 

Nevertheless,  as  the  days  slipped  by,  and  Bob's  physical 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          577 

strength  returned  in  its  full  measure,  his  active  and  bold 
spirit  again  took  the  initiative.  A  slow  anger  seized  posses- 
sion of  him.  The  native  combative  stubbornness  of  the 
race  asserted  itself,  the  necessity  of  doing  something,  the 
inability  tamely  to  submit  to  imposed  circumstances.  Bob's 
careful  analysis  of  the  situation  as  a  whole  failed  to  discover 
any  feasible  plan.  Therefore  he  abandoned  trying  to  plan 
ahead,  and  fell  back  on  those  always- ready  and  comfortable 
aphorisims  of  the  adventurous  —  "sufficient  unto  the  day  is 
the  evil  thereof,"  and  "one  thing  at  a  time."  Obviously,  the 
first  thing  to  do  was  to  free  his  arms ;  after  that  he  would  see 
what  he  would  see. 

Every  evening  Saleratus  Bill  took  the  candle  and  departed, 
leaving  Bob  to  find  his  own  way  to  his  bunk.  This  was  the 
time  to  cut  his  bonds;  if  at  all.  Unfortunately  Bob  could 
find  nothing  against  which  to  cut  them.  Saleratus  Bill  had 
carefully  removed  every  abrasive  possibility  in  the  two  rooms. 
Bob  very  wisely  relinquished  the  idea  of  passing  the  thresh- 
old in  search  of  a  suitable  rock  or  piece  of  tin.  He  had  no 
notion  of  risking  a  bullet  until  something  was  likely  to  be 
gained  by  it. 

Finally  his  cogitations  brought  him  an  idea.  Saleratus 
Bill  was  attentive  enough  to  such  of  the  simple  creature  com- 
forts as  were  within  his  means.  Bob's  pipe  had  been  well 
supplied  with  tobacco.  On  the  fourth  evening  Bob  filled  it 
just  as  his  jailor  was  about  to  take  away  the  candle  for  the 
night. 

"  Just  a  minute,"  said  Bob.     "Let  me  have  a  light." 

Bill  set  the  candle  on  the  table  again,  and  retired  the  three 
paces  which  he  never  forgot  rigidly  to  maintain  between 
himself  and  his  captive.  Bob  thereupon  lit  his  pipe  and 
nodded  his  thanks.  As  soon  as  Saleratus  Bill  had  well 
departed,  however,  he  retired  to  his  bunk  room,  shutting  the 
door  carefully  after  him.  There,  with  great  care,  he  delib- 
erately set  to  work  to  coax  into  flame  a  small  fire  on  the  old 
hearth,  using  as  fuel  the  rounds  of  a  broken  chair,  and  as 


578         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

ignition  the  glowing  coal  in  the  bowl  of  his  pipe.  Before 
the  hearth  he  had  managed  to  hang  the  heavy  quilt  from 
his  bunk,  so  that  the  flicker  of  the  flames  should  not  be  visi- 
ble from  the  outside. 

The  little  fire  caught,  blazed  for  a  few  moments,  and  fell 
to  a  steady  glow.  Bob  fished  out  one  of  the  chair  rungs, 
jammed  the  cool  end  firmly  in  one  of  the  open  cracks  between 
the  timbers  of  the  room,  turned  his  back,  and  deliberately 
pressed  the  band  around  his  elbows  against  the  live  coal. 

A  smell  of  burning  cloth  immediately  filled  the  air.  After 
a  moment  the  coal  went  out.  Bob  replaced  the  charred  rung 
in  the  fire,  extracted  another,  and  repeated  the  operation. 

It  was  exceedingly  difficult  to  gauge  the  matter  accurately, 
as  Bob  soon  found  out  to  his  cost.  He  managed  to  burn 
more  holes  in  his  garment  —  and  himself  —  than  in  the 
bonds.  However,  he  kept  at  it,  and  after  a  half  hour's  steady 
and  patient  effort  he  was  able  to  snap  asunder  the  last  strands. 
He  stretched  his  arms  over  his  head  in  an  ecstasy  of  physical 
freedom. 

That  was  all  very  well,  but  what  next?  Bob  was  sud- 
denly called  to  a  decision  which  had  up  to  that  moment 
seemed  inconceivably  remote.  Heretofore,  an  apparent 
impossibility  had  separated  him  from  it.  Now  that  impos- 
sibility was  achieved. 

A  moment's  thought  convinced  him  of  the  senseless  hazard 
of  attempting  to  slip  out  through  any  of  the  doors  or  windows. 
The  moon  was  bright,  and  Saleratus  Bill  would  have  taken 
his  precautions.  Bob  attacked  the  floor.  Several  boards 
proved  to  be  loose.  He  pried  them  up  cautiously,  and  so 
was  enabled  to  drop  through  into  the  open  space  beneath  the 
house.  Thence  it  was  easy  to  crawl  away.  Saleratus  Bill's 
precautions  were  most  likely  taken,  Bob  argued  to  himself, 
with  a  view  toward  a  man  bound  at  the  elbows,  not  to  a  man 
with  two  hands.  In  this  he  was  evidently  correct,  for  after  a 
painful  effort,  he  found  himself  among  the  high  grasses  of 
the  meadow. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          579 

There  were  now,  as  he  recognized,  two  courses  open  to  him: 
he  could  either  try  to  discover  Saleratus  Bill's  sleeping  place 
and  by  surprise  overpower  that  worthy  as  he  slept;  or  he 
could  make  the  best  of  the  interim  before  his  absence  was 
discovered  to  get  as  far  away  as  possible.  Both  courses  had 
obvious  disadvantages.  The  most  immediate  to  the  first 
alternative  was  the  difficulty,  failing  some  clue,  of  finding 
Saleratus  BilPs  sleeping  place  without  too  positive  a  risk  of 
discovery;  the  most  immediate  to  the  second  was  the  diffi- 
culty of  getting  to  the  other  side  of  the  river.  As  Saleratus 
Bill  might"  be  at  any  one  of  a  thousand  places,  in  or  out  of 
doors;  whereas  the  river  could  be  crossed  only  by  the  bridge. 
Bob,  without  hesitation,  chose  the  latter. 

Therefore  he  made  his  way  cautiously  to  that  structure. 
It  proved  to  be  lying  in  broad  moonlight.  As  it  constituted 
the  only  link  with  the  outside  world  to  the  south,  Bob  could 
not  doubt  that  his  captor  had  arranged  to  keep  it  in  sight. 

The  bridge  was,  as  has  been  said,  suspended  across  a  strait 
between  two  rocks  by  means  of  heavy  wire  cables.  Slipping 
beneath  these  rocks  and  into  the  shadow,  Bob  was  rejoiced 
to  find  that  between  the  stringers  and  the  shore,  smaller  cables 
had  been  bent  to  act  as  guy  lines.  If  he  could  walk  "  hand 
over  hand,"  the  distance  comprised  by  the  width  of  the  stream 
he  could  pass  the  river  below  the  level  of  the  bridge  floor. 
He  measured  the  distance  with  his  eye.  It  did  not  look  far- 
ther than  the  length  of  the  gymnasium  at  college.  He  seized 
the  cable  and  swung  himself  out  over  the  waters. 

Immediately  the  swift  and  boiling  current,  though  twenty 
feet  below,  seemed  to  suck  at  his  feet.  The  swirling  and 
flashing  of  the  water  dizzied  his  brain  with  the  impression  of 
falling  upstream.  He  had  to  fix  his  eyes  on  the  black  flooring 
above  his  head.  The  steel  cable,  too,  was  old  and  rusted  and 
harsh.  Bob's  hands  had  not  for  many  years  grasped  a  rope 
strongly,  and  in  that  respect  he  found  them  soft.  His  mus- 
cles, cramped  more  than  he  had  realized  by  the  bonds  of  his 
captivity,  soon  began  to  drag  and  stretch.  When  halfway 


580          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

across,  suspended  above  a  ravening  torrent;  confronted,  tired, 
by  an  effort  he  had  needed  all  his  fresh  energies  to  put  forth, 
Bob  would  have  given  a  good  deal  to  have  been  able  to  clam- 
ber aboard  the  bridge,  risk  or  no  risk.  It  was,  however,  a  clear 
case  of  needs  must.  He  finished  the  span  on  sheer  nerve 
and  will  power;  and  fell  thankfully  on  the  rocks  below  the 
farther  abutment.  For  a  half  minute  he  lay  there,  stretch- 
ing slowly  his  muscles  and  straightening  his  hands,  which 
had  become  cramped  like  claws.  Then  he  crept,  always  in 
the  shadow,  to  the  level  of  the  meadow. 

Bob  was  learning  to  be  a  mountaineer.  Therefore,  on  the 
way  down,  he  had  subconsciously  noted  that  from  the  head 
of  the  meadow  a  steep  dry  wash  climbed  straight  up  to  inter- 
sect the  road.  The  recollection  came  to  the  surface  of  his 
mind  now.  If  he  could  make  his  way  up  this  wash,  he 
would  gain  three  advantages:  he  would  materially  shorten 
his  journey  by  cutting  off  a  mile  or  so  of  the  road-grade's 
twists  and  doublings;  he  would  avoid  the  necessity  of  show- 
ing himself  so  near  the  Cove  in  the  bright  moonlight;  and  he 
would  leave  no  tracks  where  the  road  touched  the  valley. 
Accordingly  he  turned  sharp  to  the  left  and  began  to  pick  his 
way  upstream,  keeping  in  close  to  the  river  and  treading  as 
much  as  possible  on  the  water-worn  rocks.  The  willows 
and  elders  protected  him  somewhat.  In  this  manner  he  pro- 
ceeded until  he  had  come  to  the  smooth  rock  aprons  near  the 
gorge  from  which  the  river  flowed.  Here,  in  accordance  with 
his  intention  of  keeping  close  in  the  shadow  of  the  mountain, 
he  was  to  turn  to  the  right  until  he  should  have  arrived  at  the 
steep  "chimney"  of  the  wash.  He  was  about  to  leave  the 
shelter  of  the  last  willows  when  he  looked  back.  As  his  eyes 
turned,  a  flash  of  moonlight  struck  them  full,  like  the  helio- 
graphing  of  a  mirror.  He  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  bushes  from 
which  the  flicker  had  come.  In  a  moment  it  was  repeated. 
Then,  stooping  low,  a  human  figure  hurried  across  a  tiny 
opening,  and  once  again  the  moonlight  reflected  from  the 
worn  and  shining  revolver  in  its  hand. 


XXVIII 

IN  SOME  manner  Saleratus  Bill  had  discovered  the  young 
man's  escape,  and  had  already  eliminated  the  other 
possibilities  of  his  direction  of  flight.  Bob  shuddered 
at  this  evidence  of  the  rapidity  with  which  the  expert  trailer 
had  arrived  at  the  correct  conclusion.  He  could  not  now 
skirt  the  mountain,  as  he  had  intended,  for  that  would  at  once 
expose  him  in  full  view ;  he  could  not  return  by  the  way  he 
had  come,  for  that  would  bring  him  face  to  face  with  his 
enemy.  It  would  avail  him  little  to  surrender,  for  the  gun- 
man would  undoubtedly  make  good  his  threats;  fidelity  to 
such  pledges  is  one  of  the  few  things  sacred  to  the  race.  With 
some  vague  and  desperate  idea  of  defence,  Bob  picked  up  a 
heavy  branch  of  driftwood.  Then,  as  the  man  drew  nearer, 
Bob  scrambled  hastily  over  the  smooth  apron  to  the  tiny 
beach  that  the  eddies  had  washed  out  below  the  precipice. 

Here  for  the  moment  he  was  hidden,  but  he  did  not  flatter 
himself  he  would  long  remain  so.  He  cast  his  eyes  about 
him  for  a  way  of  escape.  To  the  one  side  was  the  river,  in 
front  of  him  was  the  rock  apron  with  his  enemy,  to  the  other 
side  and  back  of  him  was  a  sheer  precipice.  In  his  perplex- 
ity he  looked  down.  A  gleam  of  metal  caught  his  eye.  He 
stooped  and  picked  up  the  half  of  a  worn  horseshoe.  Even 
in  his  haste  of  mind,  he  cast  a  passing  wonderment  on  how 
it  had  come  there. 

If  Bob  had  not  been  trained  by  his  river  work  in  the  ways 
of  currents,  he  might  sooner  have  thought  of  the  stream. 
But  well  he  knew  that  Saleratus  Bill  had  spoken  right  when 
he  had  said  that  there  were  "no  swimming  holes"  here. 
The  strongest  swimmer  could  not  have  taken  two  strokes  in 


582          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

that  cauldron  of  seething  white  water.  But  now,  as  Bob 
looked,  he  saw  that  a  little  back  eddy  along  the  perpendicu- 
larity of  the  cliff  slowed  the  current  close  to  the  sheer  rock. 
It  might  be  just  possible,  with  luck,  to  win  far  enough  along 
this  cliff  to  lie  concealed  behind  some  outjutting  boulder  until 
Saleratus  Bill  had  examined  the  beach  and  gone  his  way. 
Bob  was  too  much  in  haste  to  consider  the  unexplained 
tracks  he  must  leave  on  the  sand. 

He  thrust  the  branch  he  carried  into  the  still  black  water. 
To  his  surprise  it  hit  bottom  at  a  foot's  depth.  Promptly 
he  waded  in.  Sounding  ahead,  he  walked  on.  The  under- 
water ledge  continued.  The  water  never  came  above  his 
knees.  Out  of  curiosity  he  tapped  with  his  branch  until  he 
had  reached  the  edge  of  the  submerged  shelf.  It  proved  to 
be  some  four  feet  wide.  Beyond  it  the  water  dropped  off 
sheer,  and  the  current  nearly  wrenched  the  staff  from  Bob's 
hand. 

In  this  manner  he  proceeded  cautiously  for  perhaps  a  hun- 
dred feet.  Then  he  waded  out  on  another  beach. 

He  found  himself  in  a  pocket  of  the  cliffs,  where  the  preci- 
pice so  far  drew  back  as  to  leave  a  clear  space  of  four  or  five 
acres  in  the  river  bottom.  Such  pockets,  or  "  coves, "  are  by 
no  means  unusual  in  the  inaccessible  depths  of  the  great  box 
canons  of  the  Sierras.  Often  the  traveller  can  look  down  on 
them  from  above,  lying  like  green  gems  in  their  settings  of 
granite,  but  rarely  can  he  descend  to  examine  them.  Thank- 
fully Bob  darted  to  one  side.  Here  for  a  moment  he  might 
be  safe,  for  surely  no  one  not  driven  by  such  desperation  as 
his  own  would  dream  of  setting  foot  in  the  river. 

A  loud  snort  almost  at  his  elbow,  and  a  rush  of  scurrying 
shapes,  startled  him  almost  into  crying  aloud.  Then  out 
into  the  moonlight  from  the  shadow  of  the  cliffs  rushed  two 
horses.  And  Bob,  seeing  what  they  were,  sprang  from  his 
fancied  security  into  instant  action,  for  in  a  flash  he  saw  the 
significance  of  the  broken  horseshoe  on  the  beach,  the  sunken 
ledge,  and  the  secret  of  the  horses'  pasture.  By  sheer 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          583 

chance  he  had  blundered  on  one  of  Saleratus  Bill's  outlaw 
retreats. 

Hastily  he  skirted  the  walls  of  the  tiny  valley.  They  were 
unbroken.  The  river  swept  by  tortured  and  tumbled.  He 
ran  to  the  head  of  the  cove.  No  sunken  ledge  there  rewarded 
him.  Instead,  the  river  at  that  point  swept  inward,  so  that  the 
full  force  of  the  current  washed  the  very  shores. 

Bob  searched  the  prospect  with  eager  eye.  Twelve  or 
fifteen  feet  upstream,  and  six  or  seven  feet  out  from  the  cliff, 
stood  a  huge  round  boulder.  That  alone  broke  the  shadowy 
expanse  of  the  river,  which  here  rushed  down  with  great 
velocity.  Manifestly  it  was  impossible  to  swim  to  this 
boulder.  Bob,  however,  conceived  a  daring  idea.  At 
imminent  risk  and  by  dint  of  frantic  scrambling  he  worked 
his  way  along  the  cliff  until  he  had  gained  a  point  opposite 
the  boulder  and  considerably  above  it.  Then,  without 
hesitation,  he  sprang  as  strongly  as  he  was  able  sidewise  from 
the  face  of  the  cliff. 

He  landed  on  the  boulder  with  great  force,  so  that  for  a 
moment  he  feared  he  must  have  broken  some  bones.  Cer- 
tainly his  breath  was  all  but  knocked  from  his  body.  Spread 
out  flat  on  the  top  of  the  rock,  he  moved  his  limbs  cautiously. 
They  seemed  to  work  all  right.  He  backed  cautiously  until 
he  lay  outspread  on  the  upstream  slope  of  the  boulder.  At 
just  this  moment  he  caught  the  sinister  figure  of  Saleratus 
Bill  moving  along  the  sunken  ledge. 

For  the  first  time  Bob  remembered  the  tracks  he  must 
have  left  and  the  man's  skill  at  trailing.  A  rapid  review  of 
his  most  recent  actions  reassured  him  at  one  point;  in  order 
to  gain  to  the  first  of  the  minor  cliff  projections  by  means 
of  which  he  had  spread-eagled  along  the  face  of  the  rock, 
he  had  been  forced  to  step  into  the  very  shallow  water  at  the 
stream's  edge.  Thus  his  last  footprints  led  directly  into  the 
river. 

The  value  of  this  impression,  conjoined  with  the  existence 
of  a  ledge  below  over  which  he  had  already  waded  safely, 


584          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

was  not  lost  on  Bob's  perception.  As  has  been  stated,  his 
earlier  experience  in  river  driving  had  given  him  an  inti- 
mate knowledge  of  the  action  of  currents.  Casting  his  eye 
hastily  down  the  moonlit  river,  he  seized  his  hat  from  his  head 
and  threw  it  low  and  skimming  toward  an  eddy  opposite  him 
as  he  lay.  The  river  snatched  it  up,  tossed  it  to  one  side  or 
another,  and  finally  carried  it,  as  Bob  had  calculated,  within 
,a  few  feet  of  the  ledge  along  which  Saleratus  Bill  was  still 
making  his  way. 

The  gun-man,  of  course,  caught  sight  of  it,  and  even  made 
.an  attempt  to  capture  it  as  it  floated  past,  but  without  avail. 
It  served,  however,  to  prepossess  his  mind  with  the  idea  that 
Bob  had  been  swept  away  by  the  river,  so  that  when,  after  a 
careful  examination  of  the  tiny  cove,  he  came  to  the  trail 
leading  into  the  water,  he  was  prepared  to  believe  that  the 
young  man  had  been  carried  off  his  feet  in  an  attempt  to 
wade  out  past  the  cliff.  He  even  picked  up  a  branch,  with 
which  he  poked  at  the  bottom.  A  short  and  narrow  rock 
projection  favoured  his  hypothesis,  for  it  might  very  well 
happen  that  merely  an  experimental  venture  on  so  slant- 
ing and  slippery  a  footing  would  prove  fatal.  Saleratus 
Bill  examined  again  for  footprints  emerging;  threw  his  branch 
into  the  river,  and  watched  the  direction  of  its  course;  and 
then,  for  the  first  time,  slipped  the  worn  and  shiny  old  revolver 
into  its  holster.  He  spent  several  moments  more  reexamin- 
ing  the  cove,  glanced  again  at  the  river,  and  finally  dis- 
appeared, wading  slowly  back  around  the  sunken  ledge. 

Bob's  next  task  was  to  regain  solid  land.  For  some  min- 
utes he  sat  astride  the  boulder,  estimating  the  force  and 
directions  of  the  current.  Then  he  leaped.  As  he  had  cal- 
culated, the  stream  threw  him  promptly  against  the  bank 
below.  There  his  legs  were  immediately  sucked  beneath  the 
overhanging  rock  that  had  convinced  Saleratus  Bill  of  his 
captive's  fate.  It  seemed  likely  now  to  justify  that  convic- 
tion. Bob  clung  desperately,  until  his  muscles  cracked,  but 
was  unable  so  far  to  draw  his  legs  from  underneath  the  rock 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          585 

as  to  gain  a  chance  to  struggle  out  of  water.  Indeed,  he 
might  very  well  have  hung  in  that  equilibrium  of  forces  until 
tired  out,  had  not  a  slender,  water-washed  alder  root  offered 
itself  to  his  grasp.  This  frail  shrub,  but  lightly  rooted,  never- 
theless afforded  him  just  the  extra  support  he  required. 
Though  he  expected  every  instant  that  the  additional  ounces 
of  weight  he  from  moment  to  moment  applied  to  it  would 
tear  it  away,  it  held.  Inch  by  inch  he  drew  himself  from  the 
clutch  of  the  rushing  water,  until  at  length  he  succeeded  in 
getting  the  broad  of  his  chest  against  the  bank.  A  few  vigor- 
ous kicks  then  extricated  him. 

For  a  moment  or  so  he  lay  stretched  out  panting,  and 
considering  what  next  was  to  be  done.  There  was  a  chance, 
of  course  —  and,  in  view  of  Saleratus  Bill's  shrewdness,  a 
very  strong  chance  —  that  the  gun-man  would  add  to  his 
precautions  a  wait  and  a  watch  at  the  entrance  to  the  cove. 
If  Bob  were  to  wade  out  around  the  ledge,  he  might  run 
fairly  into  his  former  jailer's  gun.  On  the  other  hand,  Saler- 
atus Bill  must  be  fairly  well  convinced  of  the  young  man's 
destruction,  and  he  must  be  desirous  of  changing  his  wet 
clothes.  Bob's  own  predicament,  in  this  chill  of  night,  made 
him  attach  much  weight  to  this  latter  consideration.  Besides, 
any  delay  in  the  cove  meant  more  tracks  to  be  noticed  when 
the  gun-man  should  come  after  the  horses.  Bob,  his  teeth 
chattering,  resolved  to  take  the  chance  of  instant  action. 

Accordingly  he  waded  back  along  the  sunken  ledge,  glided 
as  quickly  as  he  could  over  the  rock  apron,  and  wormed  his 
way  through  the  grasses  to  the  dry  wash  leading  up  the  side 
of  the  mountains.  Here  fortune  had  favoured  him,  and  by 
a  very  simple,  natural  sequence.  The  moon  had  by  an  hour 
sailed  farther  to  the  west;  the  wash  now  lay  in  shadow. 

Bob  climbed  as  rapidly  as  his  wind  would  let  him,  and  in 
that  manner  avoided  a  chill.  He  reached  the  road  at  a  broad 
sheet  of  rock  whereon  his  footsteps  left  no  trace.  After  a 
moment's  consideration,  he  decided  to  continue  directly  up 
the  mountainside  through  the  thick  brush.  This  travel  must 


586          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

be  uncertain  and  laborious;  but  if  he  proceeded  along  the 
road,  Saleratus  Bill  must  see  the  traces  he  would  indubitably 
leave.  In  the  obscurity  of  the  shady  side  of  the  mountain  he 
found  his  task  even  more  difficult  than  he  had  thought  pos- 
sible. Again  and  again  he  found  himself  puzzled  by  impene- 
trable thickets,  impassable  precipices,  rough  outcrops  barring 
his  way.  By  dint  of  patience  and  hard  work,  however,  he 
gained  the  top  of  the  mountain.  At  sunrise  he  looked  back 
into  Bright's  Cove.  It  lay  there  peacefully  deserted,  to  all 
appearance;  but  Bob,  looking  very  closely,  thought  to  make 
out  smoke.  The  long  thread  of  the  road  was  quite  vacant. 


XXIX 

BOB  had  no  very  clear  idea  of  where  he  was,  except 
that  it  was  in  the  unfriendly  Durham  country.     It 
seemed  well  to  postpone   all  public  appearances 
until  he  should  be  beyond  a  chance  that  Saleratus  Bill 
might  hear  of  him.     Bob  was  quite  satisfied  that  the  gun- 
man should  believe  him  to  have  been  swept  away  by  the 
current. 

Accordingly,  after  he  had  well  rested  from  his  vigorous 
climb,  he  set  out  to  parallel  the  dim  old  road  by  which  the 
two  had  entered  the  Cove.  At  times  this  proved  so  difficult 
a  matter  that  Bob  was  almost  on  the  point  of  abandoning 
the  hillside  tangle  of  boulders  and  brush  in  favour  of  the 
open  highway.  He  reflected  in  time  that  Saleratus  Bill 
must  come  out  by  this  route;  and  he  shrewdly  surmised  the 
expert  trailer  might  be  able  from  some  former  minute  obser- 
vation to  recognize  his  footprints.  Therefore  he  struggled 
on  until  the  road  dipped  down  toward  the  lower  country. 
He  remembered  that,  on  the  way  in,  his  captor  had  led  him 
first  down  the  mountain,  and  then  up  again.  Bob  resolved 
to  abandon  the  road  and  keep  to  the  higher  contours,  trust- 
ing to  cut  the  trail  where  it  again  mounted  to  his  level.  To 
be  sure,  it  was  probable  that  there  existed  some  very  good 
reason  why  the  road  so  dipped  to  the  valley  —  some  dike, 
ridge  or  deep  canon  impassable  to  horses.  Bob  knew  enough 
of  mountains  to  guess  that.  Still,  he  argued,  that  might  not 
stop  a  man  afoot. 

The  rest  of  a  long,  hard  day  he  spent  in  proving  this  latter 
proposition.  The  country  was  very  broken.  A  dozen 
times  Bob  scrambled  and  slid  down  a  gorge,  and  out  again, 

S87 


588          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

doing  thus  an  hour's  work  for  a  half  mile  gain.  The  sun 
turned  hot,  and  he  had  no  food.  Fortunately  water  was 
abundant.  Toward  the  close  of  the  afternoon  he  struck 
in  to  a  long  slope  of  pine  belt,  and  conceived  his  difficulties 
over. 

After  the  heat  and  glare  of  the  rocks,  the  cool  shadows  of 
the  forest  were  doubly  grateful.  Bob  lifted  his  face  to  the 
wandering  breezes,  and  stepped  out  with  fresh  vigour.  The 
way  led  at  first  up  the  narrow  spine  of  a  "hogback,"  but 
soon  widened  into  one  of  the  ample  and  spacious  parks 
peculiar  to  the  elevations  near  the  summits  of  the  First 
Rampart.  Occasional  cattle  tracks  meandered  here  and 
there,  but  save  for  these  Bob  saw  no  signs  of  man's  activities 
—  no  cuttings,  no  shake-bolts,  no  blazes  on  the  trees  to  mark 
a  way.  Nevertheless,  as  he  rose  on  the  slow,  even  swell  of 
the  mountain  the  conviction  of  familiarity  began  to  force 
its  way  in  him.  The  forest  was  just  like  every  other  forest; 
there  was  no  outlook  in  any  direction;  but  all  the  same,  with 
that  instinct  for  locality  inherent  in  a  natural  woodsman,  he 
began  to  get  his  bearings,  to  "feel  the  lay  of  the  country," 
as  the  saying  is.  This  is  probably  an  effect  of  the  sub- 
conscious mind  in  memory;  a  recognition  of  what  the  eye 
has  seen  without  reporting  to  the  conscious  mind.  How- 
ever that  may  be,  Bob  was  not  surprised  when  toward  sun- 
set he  came  suddenly  on  a  little  clearing,  a  tiny  orchard, 
and  a  house  built  rudely  of  logs  and  shakes. 

Relieved  that  he  was  not  to  spend  the  night  without  food 
and  fire,  he  vaulted  the  "snake"  fence,  and  strode  to  the 
back  door.  A  woman  was  frying  venison  steaks. 

"Hullo,  Mrs.  Ward,"  Bob  shouted  at  her.  "That  smells 
good  to  me;  I  haven't  had  a  bite  since  last  night  I" 

The  woman  dropped  her  pan  and  came  to  the  door.  A 
lank  and  lean  Pike  County  Missourian  rose  from  the 
shadows  and  advanced. 

"Light  and  rest  yo'  hat,  Mr.  Ordel"  he  called  before  he 
came  well  into  view.  "But  yo'  already  lighted,  and  you 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          589 

ain't  go  no  hat!"  he  cried  in  puzzled  tones.  "Whar  yo'- 
allfrom?" 

"Came  from  north,"  Bob  replied  cheerfully,  " and  I  lost 
my  horse  down  a  canon,  and  my  hat  in  a  river." 

"And  yere  yo'  be  plumb  afoot!" 

"And  plumb  empty,"  supplemented  Bob.  "Maybe  Mrs. 
Ward  will  make  me  some  coffee,"  he  suggested  with  a  side 
glance  at  the  woman  who  had  once  tried  to  poison  him. 

She  turned  a  dull  red  under  the  tan  of  her  sallow  com- 
plexion. 

"Shore,  Mr.  Orde "  she  began. 

"We  didn't  rightly  understand  each  other,"  Bob  reas- 
sured her.  "That  was  all." 

"Did  she-all  refuse  you  coffee  onct?"  asked  Ward. 
"What  yo'  palaverin'  about?" 

"  She  isn't  refusing  to  make  me  some  now,"  said  Bob. 

He  spent  the  night  comfortably  with  his  new  friends  who 
a  few  months  ago  had  been  ready  to  murder  him.  The  next 
morning  early,  supplied  with  an  ample  lunch,  he  set  out. 
Ward  offered  him  a  riding  horse,  but  he  declined. 

"I'd  have  to  send  it  back,"  said  he,  "and,  anyway,  I'd 
neither  want  to  borrow  your  saddle  nor  ride  bareback.  I'd 
rather  walk." 

The  old  man  accompanied  him  to  the  edge  of  the 
clearing. 

"By  the  way,"  Bob  mentioned,  as  he  said  farewell,  "if 
some  one  asks  you,  just  tell  them  you  haven't  seen  me." 

The  old  man  stopped  short. 

"What-for  a  man?"  he  asked. 

"Any  sort." 

A  frosty  gleam  crept  into  the  old  Missourian's  eye. 

"I'll  keep  hands  off,"  said  he.  He  strode  on  twenty  feet. 
"I  got  an  extra  gun "  said  he. 

"Thanks,"  Bob  interrupted.  "But  I'll  get  organized 
better  when  I  get  home." 

"Hope  you  git  him,"  said  the  old  man  by  way  of  farewell. 


5QO          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"He  won't  git  nothing  out  of  me,"  he  shot  back  over  his 
shoulder. 

Bob  now  knew  exactly  where  he  was  going.  Reinvigorated 
by  the  food,  the  night's  rest,  and  the  cool  air  of  these  higher 
altitudes,  he  made  good  time.  By  four  o'clock  of  the  after- 
noon he  at  last  hit  the  broad,  dusty  thoroughfare  over  which 
were  hauled  the  supplies  to  Baker's  upper  works.  Along 
this  he  swung,  hands  in  pockets,  a  whistle  on  his  lips,  the 
fine,  light  dust  rising  behind  his  footsteps.  The  slight  down 
grade  released  his  tired  muscles  from  effort.  He  was  enjoy- 
ing himself. 

Then  he  came  suddenly  around  a  corner  plump  against  a 
horseman  climbing  leisurely  up  the  grade.  Both  stopped. 

If  Bob  had  entertained  any  lingering  doubt  as  to  Old- 
ham's  complicity  in  his  abduction,  the  expression  on  the  land 
agent's  face  would  have  removed  it.  For  the  first  time  in 
public  Oldham's  countenance  expressed  a  livelier  emotion 
than  that  of  cynical  interest.  His  mouth  fell  open  and  his 
eyeglasses  dropped  off.  He  stared  at  Bob  as  though  that 
young  man  had  suddenly  sprung  into  visibility  from  clear 
atmosphere.  Bob  surveyed  him  grimly. 

"  Delighted  to  see  me,  aren't  you  ?  "  he  remarked.  A  slow 
anger  surged  up  within  him.  "Your  little  scheme  didn't 
work,  did  it?  Wanted  me  out  of  the  way,  did  you? 
Thought  you'd  keep  me  out  of  court!  Well,  I'm  here,  just 
as  I  said  I'd  be  here.  You  can  pay  your  villainous  tool 
or  kick  him  out,  as  you  please.  He's  failed,  and  he  won't 
get  another  chance.  You  miserable  whelp!" 

But  Oldham  had  recovered  his  poise. 

"  Get  out  of  my  way.  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about.  I'll  land  you  in  the  penitentiary  a  week  after  you 
appear  in  court.  You're  warned." 

"  Oh,  I've  been  warned  for  some  time.  But  first  I'll  land 
you." 

"Really!     How?" 

"Right  here  and  now,"  said  Bob  stepping  forward. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          591 

Oldham  reined  back  his  horse,  and  drew  from  his  side 
pocket  a  short,  nickel-plated  revolver. 

"Let  me  pass!"  he  commanded  harshly.  He  presented 
the  weapon,  and  his  gray  eyes  contracted  to  pin  points. 

"Throw  that  thing  away,"  said  Bob,  laying  his  hand  on 
the  other  man's  bridle.  uPm  going  to  give  you  the  very 
worst  licking  you  ever  heard  tell  ojl" 

The  young  man's  muscles  were  tense  with  the  expectation 
of  a  shot.  To  his  vast  astonishment,  at  his  last  words  Old- 
ham  turned  deadly  pale,  swayed  in  the  saddle,  and  the 
revolver  clattered  past  his  stirrup  to  fall  in  the  dust.  With 
a  snarl  of  contempt  at  what  he  erroneously  took  for  a  mere 
physical  cowardice,  Bob  reached  for  his  enemy  and  dragged 
him  from  the  saddle. 

The  chastisement  was  brief,  but  effective.  Bob's  anger 
cooled  with  the  first  blow,  for  Oldham  was  no  match  for  his 
younger  and  more  vigorous  assailant.  In  fact,  he  hardly 
offered  any  resistance.  Bob  knocked  him  down,  shook  him 
by  the  collar  as  a  terrier  shakes  a  ground  squirrel,  and  cast 
him  fiercely  in  the  dust.  Oldham  sat  up,  his  face  bleeding 
slightly,  his  eyes  bewildered  with  the  suddenness  of  the 
onslaught.  The  young  man  leaned  over  him,  speaking 
vehemently  to  rivet  his  attention. 

"Now  you  listen  to  me,"  said  he.  "You  leave  me  alone. 
If  I  ever  hear  any  gossip,  even,  about  what  you  will  or  will 
not  do  to  me,  I'll  know  where  it  started  from.  The  first 
word  I  hear  from  any  one  anywhere,  I'll  start  for  you." 

He  looked  down  for  a  moment  at  the  disorganized  man 
seated  in  the  thick,  white  dust  that  was  still  floating  lazily 
around  him.  Then  he  turned  abruptly  away  and  resumed 
his  journey. 


XXX 

FOR  ten  seconds  Oldham  sat  as  Bob  had  left  him.  His 
hat  and  eyeglasses  were  gone,  his  usually  immacu- 
late irongray  hair  rumpled,  his  clothes  covered  with 
dust.  A  thin  stream  of  blood  crept  from  beneath  his  close- 
clipped  moustache.  But  the  most  striking  result  of  the 
encounter,  to  one  who  had  known  the  man,  was  in  the  con- 
vulsed expression  of  his  countenance.  A  close  friend  would 
hardly  have  recognized  him.  His  lips  snarled,  his  eyes 
flared,  the  muscles  of  his  face  worked.  Ordinarily  repressed 
and  inscrutable,  this  crisis  had  thrown  him  so  far  off  his 
balance  that,  as  often  happens,  he  had  fallen  to  the  other 
extreme.  Sniffling  and  half-sobbing,  like  a  punished  school- 
boy, he  dragged  himself  to  where  his  revolver  lay  forgotten 
in  the  dust.  Taking  as  deliberate  aim  as  his  condition  per- 
mitted, he  pulled  at  the  trigger.  The  hammer  refused  to 
rise,  or  the  cylinder  to  revolve.  Abandoning  the  self-cocking 
feature  of  the  arm,  he  tried  to  cock  it  by  hand.  The  mechan^ 
ism  grated  sullenly  against  the  grit  from  the  road.  Oldham 
worked  frantically  to  get  the  hammer  to  catch.  By  the 
time  he  had  succeeded,  his  antagonist  was  out  of  reach. 
With  a  half-scream  of  baffled  rage,  he  hurled  the  now  useless 
weapon  in  the  direction  of  the  young  man's  disappearance. 
Then,  as  Oldham  stood  militant  in  the  dusty  road,  a  change 
came  over  him.  Little  by  little  the  man  resumed  his  old 
self.  A  full  minute  went  by.  Save  for  the  quicker  breath- 
ing, a  spectator  might  have  thought  him  sunk  in  reverie. 
At  the  end  of  that  time  the  old,  self-contained,  reserved, 
cynical  Oldham  stepped  from  his  tracks,  and  set  methodically 
to  repair  damages. 

592 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  593 

First  he  searched  for  and  found  his  glasses,  fortunately 
unbroken.  At  the  nearest  streamlet  he  washed  his  face, 
combed  his  hair,  brushed  off  his  clothes.  The  saddle  horse 
browsed  not  far  away.  Finally  he  walked  down  the  road, 
picked  up  the  revolver,  cleaned  it  thoroughly  of  dust,  tested 
it  and  slipped  it  into  his  pocket.  Then  he  resumed  his 
journey,  outwardly  as  self-possessed  as  ever. 

Near  the  upper  dam  he  had  another  encounter.  The  dust 
of  some  one  approaching  warned  him  some  time  before  the 
traveller  came  in  sight.  Oldham  reined  back  his  horse  until 
he  could  see  who  it  was;  then  he  spurred  forward  to  meet 
Saleratus  Bill. 

The  gun-man  was  lounging  along  at  peace  with  all  the 
world,  his  bridle  rein  loose,  his  leg  slung  over  the  pommel  of 
his  saddle.  At  the  sight  of  his  employer,  he  grinned 
cheerfully. 

Oldham  rode  directly  to  him. 

"Why  aren't  you  attending  to  your  job?"  he  demanded 
icily. 

"Out  of  a  job,"  said  Saleratus  Bill  cheerfully. 

"Why  haven't  you  kept  your  man  in  charge?" 

"I  did  until  he  just  naturally  had  one  of  those  unavoidable 
accidents." 

"  Explain  yourself." 

"Well.  I  ain't  never  been  afraid  of  words.  He's  dead; 
that's  what." 

"Indeed,"  said  Oldham,  "Then  I  suppose  I  met 
his  ghost  just  now;  and  that  a  spirit  gave  me  this  cut 
Up." 

Saleratus  Bill  swung  his  leg  from  the  saddle  horn  and 
straightened  to  attention. 

"  Did  he  have  a  hat  on?"  he  demanded  keenly. 

"Yes  —  no  —  I  believe  not.     No,  I'm  sure  he  didn't." 

"It's  him,  all  right."  He  shook  his  head  reflectively,  "I 
can't  figure  it." 

Oldham  was  staring  at  him  with  deadly  coldness. 


594          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Perhaps  you'll  be  good  enough  to  explain,"  he  sneered  — 
"five  hundred  dollars'  worth  at  any  rate." 

Saleratus  Bill  detailed  what  he  knew  of  the  whole  affair. 
Oldham  listened  to  the  end.  His  cynical  expression  did  not 
change;  and  the  unlighted  cigar  that  he  held  between  his 
swollen  lips  never  changed  its  angle. 

"And  so  he  just  nat'rally  disappeared,"  Saleratus  Bill 
ended  his  recital.  "I  can't  figure  it  out." 

Then  Oldham  spat  forth  the  cigar.  His  calm  utterly 
deserted  him.  He  thrust  his  livid  countenance  out  at  his 
man. 

"Figure  it  out!"  he  cried.  "You  pin-headed  fool!  You 
had  an  unarmed  man  tied  hand  and  foot,  in  a  three- thousand- 
foot  hole,  and  you  couldn't  keep  him!  And  one  of  the  small- 
est interests  involved  is  worth  more  than  everything  your 
worthless  hide  can  hold!  I  picked  you  out  for  this  job 
because  I  thought  you  reliable.  And  now  you  come  to  me 
with  'I  can't  figure  it  out!'  That's  all  the  explanation  or 
excuse  you  bring!  You  miserable,  worthless  cur!" 

Saleratus  Bill  was  looking  at  him  steadily  from  his  evil, 
red-rimmed  eyes.  . 

"Hold  on,"  he  drawled.  "Go  slow.  I  don't  stand  such 
talk." 

Oldham  spurred  up  close  to  him. 

"Don't  you  try  any  of  your  gun-play  or  intimidation  on 
me,"  he  fairly  shouted.  "I  won't  stand  for  it.  You'll  hear 
what  I've  got  to  say,  just  as  long  as  I  choose  to  say  it." 

He  eyed  the  gun-man  truculently.  Certainly  even  Bob 
could  not  have  accused  him  of  physical  cowardice  at  that 
moment. 

Saleratus  Bill  stared  back  at  him  with  the  steady,  venomous 
glare  of  a  rattlesnake.  Then  his  lips,  under  his  straggling, 
sandy  moustache,  parted  in  a  slow  grin. 

"Say  your  say,"  he  conceded.  "I  reckon  you're  mad;  I 
reckon  that  boy  man-handled  you  something  scand'lous." 

At  the  words  Oldham' s  face  became  still  more  congested. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          595 

"  But  you  look  a-here,"  said  Saleratus  Bill,  suddenly  lean- 
ing across  from  his  saddle  and  pointing  a  long,  lean  finger. 
"You  just  remember  this:  I  took  this  yere  job  with  too  many 
strings  tied  to  it.  I  mustn't  hurt  him;  and  I  must  see  no 
harm  comes  to  him;  and  I  must  be  noways  cruel  to  mama's 
baby.  You  had  me  hobbled,  and  then  you  cuss  me  out 
because  I  can't  get  over  the  rocks.  If  you'd  turned  me 
loose  with  no  instructions  except  to  disappear  your  man, 
I'd  have  earned  my  money." 

He  dropped  his  hand  to  the  butt  of  his  six-shooter,  and 
looked  his  principal  in  the  eye. 

"I'm  just  as  sorry  as  you  are  that  he  rnaue  this  get-away," 
he  continued  slowly.  "Now  I  got  to  pull  up  stakes  and 
get  out.  Nat' rally  he'll  make  it  too  hot  for  me  here.  Then 
I  could  use  that  extry  twenty-five  hundred  that  was  coming 
to  me  on  this  job.  But  it  ain't  too  late.  He's  got  away 
once;  but  he  ain't  in  court  yet.  I  can  easy  keep  him  out, 
if  the  original  bargain  stands.  Of  course,  I'm  sorry  he 
punched  your  face." 

"Damn  his  soul!"  burst  out  Oldham. 

"Just  let  me  deal  with  him  my  way,  instead  of  yours," 
repeated  Saleratus  Bill. 

"Do  so,"  snarled  Oldham;  "the  sooner  the  better." 

"  That's  all  I  want  to  hear,"  said  the  gun-man,  and  touched 
spurs  to  his  horse. 


XXXI 

BOB'S  absence  had  occasioned  some  speculation,  but 
no  uneasiness,  at  headquarters.  An  officer  of  the 
Forest  Service  was  too  often  called  upon  for  sudden 
excursions  in  unexpected  emergencies  to  make  it  possible  for 
his  chiefs  to  keep  accurate  track  of  all  his  movements.  A 
day's  trip  to  the  valley  might  easily  be  deflected  to  a  week's 
excursion  to  the  higher  peaks  by  any  one  of  a  dozen  circum- 
stances. The  report  of  trespassing  sheep,  a  tiny  smoke 
above  distant  trees,  a  messenger  sent  out  for  arbitration  in 
a  cattle  dispute,  are  samples  of  the  calls  to  which  Bob  must 
have  hastened  no  matter  on  what  errand  he  had  been  bound. 

He  arrived  at  headquarters  late  in  the  afternoon.  Already 
a  thin  wand  of  smoke  wavered  up  through  the  trees  from 
Amy's  little,  open  kitchen.  The  open  door  of  the  shed 
office  trickled  forth  a  thin  clicking  of  typewriters.  Otherwise 
the  camp  seemed  deserted. 

At  Bob's  halloo,  however,  both  Thorne  and  old  California 
John  came  to  the  door.  In  two  minutes  he  had  all  three 
gathered  about  the  table  under  the  three  big  firs. 

"In  the  first  place,  I  want  to  say  right  now,"  he  began, 
"that  I  have  the  evidence  to  win  the  land  case  against  the 
Modoc  Mining  Company." 

"How?"  demanded  Thorne,  leaning  forward  eagerly. 

"  Baker  has  boasted,  before  two  witnesses,  that  his  mineral 
entries  were  fraudulent  and  made  simply  to  get  water  rights 
and  timber." 

"  Those  witnesses  will  testify?" 

"They  will." 

"Who  are  they?" 

S96 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          597 

"Mr.  Welton  and  myself." 

"  Glory  be!"  cried  Thome,  springing  to  his  feet  and  clap- 
ping Bob  on  the  back.  "We've  got  him!" 

"So  that's  what  you've  been  up  to  for  the  past  week!" 
cried  Amy.  "We've  been  wondering  where  you  had  dis- 
appeared to!" 

"Well,  not  precisely,"  grinned  Bob;  "I've  been  in  durance 
vile." 

In  response  to  their  questionings  he  detailed  a  semi- 
humorous  account  of  his  abduction,  detention  and  escape. 
His  three  auditors  listened  with  the  deepest  attention. 

As  the  recital  progressed  to  the  point  wherein  Bob  described 
his  midnight  escape,  Amy,  unnoticed  by  the  others,  leaned 
back  and  closed  her  eyes.  The  colour  left  her  face  for  a 
moment,  but  the  next  instant  had  rushed  back  to  her  cheeks 
in  a  tide  of  deeper  red.  She  thrust  forward,  her  eyes  snap- 
ping with  indignation. 

"  They  are  desperate;  there's  no  doubt  of  it,"  was  Thome's 
comment.  "And  they  won't  stop  at  this.  I  wish  the  trial 
was  to-morrow.  We  must  get  your  testimony  in  shape 
before  anything  happens." 

Amy  was  staring  across  the  table  at  them,  her  lips  parted 
with  horror. 

"You  don't  think  they'll  try  anything  worse!"  she  gasped. 

Bob  started  to  reassure  her,  but  Thorne  in  his  matter-of- 
fact  way  broke  in. 

"I  don't  doubt  they'll  try  to  get  him  proper,  next  time. 
We  must  get  out  papers  and  the  sheriff  after  this  Saleratus 
Bill." 

"He'll  be  almighty  hard  to  locate,"  put  in  California  John. 

"And  I  think  we'd  better  not  let  Bob,  here,  go  around 
alone  any  more." 

"  I  don't  think  he  ought  to  go  around  at  all! "  Amy  amended 
this  vigorously. 

Bob  shot  at  her  an  obliquely  humorous  glance,  before 
which  her  own  fell.  Somehow  the  humour  died  from  his. 


598  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"Bodyguard  accepted  with  thanks,"  said  he,  recovering 
himself.  "I've  had  enough  Wild  West  on  my  own  account." 
His  words  and  the  expression  of  his  face  were  facetious,  but  his 
tones  were  instinct  with  a  gravity  that  attracted  even  Thome's 
attention.  The  Supervisor  glanced  at  the  young  man  curi- 
ously, wondering  if  he  were  going  to  lose  his  nerve  at  the  last. 
But  Bob's  personal  stake  was  furthest  from  his  mind.  Some- 
thing in  Amy's  half-frightened  gesture  had  opened  a  new  door 
in  his  soul.  The  real  and  insistent  demands  of  the  situation 
had  been  suddenly  struck  shadowy  while  his  forces  adjusted 
themselves  to  new  possibilities. 

"Ware's  your  man,"  suggested  California  John.  "He's 
a  gun-man,  and  he's  got  a  nerve  like  a  saw-mill  man." 

"Where  is  Ware?"  Thorne  asked  Amy. 

"He's  over  at  Fair's  shake  camp.  He  will  be  back 
to-morrow." 

"That's  settled,  then.  How  about  Welton?  Is  he 
warned?  You  say  he'll  testify?" 

"If  he  has  to,"  replied  Bob,  by  a  strong  effort  bringing 
himself  back  to  a  practical  consideration  of  the  matter  in 
hand.  "At  least  he'll  never  perjure  himself,  if  he's  called. 
Welton' s  case  is  different.  Look  here;  it's  bound  to  come 
out,  so  you  may  as  well  know  the  whole  situation." 

He  paused,  glancing  from  one  to  another  of  his  hearers. 
Thome's  keen  face  expressed  interest  of  the  alert  official; 
California  John's  mild  blue  eye  beamed  upon  him  with  a 
dawning  understanding  of  the  situation;  Amy,  intuitively 
divining  a  more  personal  trouble,  looked  across  at  him  with 
sympathy. 

"John,  here,  will  remember  the  circumstance,"  said  Bob. 
"It  happened  about  the  time  I  first  came  out  here  with  Mr. 
Welton.  It  seems  that  Plant  had  assured  him  that  every- 
thing was  all  arranged  so  our  works  and  roads  could  cross 
the  Forest,  so  we  went  ahead  and  built  them.  In  those  days 
it  was  all  a  matter  of  form,  anyway.  Then  when  we  were 
ready  to  go  ahead  with  our  first  season's  work,  up  steps 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  599 

Plant  and  asks  to  see  our  permission,  threatening  to  shut 
us  down!  Of  course,  all  he  wanted  was  money." 

"And  Welton  gave  it  to  him?"  cried  Amy. 

"It  wasn't  a  case  of  buy  a  privilege,"  explained  Bob,  "but 
of  life  itself.  We  were  operating  on  borrowed  money,  and 
just  beginning  our  first  year's  operations.  The  season  is 
short  in  these  mountains,  as  you  know,  and  we  were  under 
heavy  obligations  to  fulfil  a  contract  for  sawed  lumber.  A 
delay  of  even  a  week  meant  absolute  ruin  to  a  large  enter- 
prise. Mr.  Welton  held  o£f  to  the  edge  of  danger,  I  remem- 
ber, exhausting  every  means  possible  here  and  at  Washington 
to  rush  through  the  necessary  permission." 

11  Why  didn't  he  tell  the  truth  —  expose  Plant  ?  Surely  no 
department  would  endorse  that,"  put  in  Amy,  a  trifle  sub- 
dued in  manner. 

"That  takes  time,"  Bob  pointed  out.    "There  was  no  time." 

"So  Welton  came  through,"  said  Thorne  drily.  "What 
has  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Baker  paid  the  money  for  him,"  said  Bob. 

"Well,  they're  both  in  the  same  boat,"  remarked  Thorne 
tranquilly.  "I  don't  see  that  that  gives  him  any  hold  on 
Welton." 

"He  threatens  to  turn  state's  evidence  in  the  matter,  and 
seems  confident  of  immunity  on  that  account." 

"He  can't  mean  it!"  cried  Amy. 

"Sheer  bluff,"  said  Thorne. 

"I  thought  so,  and  went  to  see  him.  Now  I  am  sure  not. 
He  means  it;  and  he'll  do  it  when  this  case  against  the  Modoc 
Company  is  pushed." 

"I  thought  you  said  Welton  would  testify?"  observed 
Thorne. 

"He  will.     But  naturally  only  if  he  is  summoned." 

"Then  what " 

"Oh,  I  see.  Baker  never  thought  he  could  keep  Welton 
from  telling  the  truth,  but  knew  perfectly  well  he  would  not 
volunteer  the  evidence.  He  used  his  hold  over  Welton  to 


6oo          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

try  to  keep  me  from  bringing  forward  this  testimony.  Sort 
of  relied  on  our  intimacy  and  friendship." 

"But  you  will  testify?" 

"I  think  I  see  my  duty  that  way,"  said  Bob  in  a  troubled 
voice. 

" Quite  right,"  saidThorne,  dispassionately;  "I'm  sorry." 
He  arose  from  the  table.  "  This  is  most  important.  I  don't 
often  issue  positive  prohibitions  in  my  capacity  of  superior 
officer;  but  in  this  instance  I  must.  I  am  going  to  request 
you  not  to  leave  camp  on  any  errand  unless  accompanied 
by  Ranger  Ware." 

Bob  nodded  a  little  impatiently.  California  John  paused 
before  following  his  chief  into  the  office. 

"It's  good  sense,  boy,"  said  he,  "and  nobody  gives  a  darn 
for  your  worthless  skin,  you  know.  It's  just  the  informa- 
tion you  got  inside  it." 

"Right,"  laughed  Bob,  his  brow  clearing.     "I  forgot." 

California  John  nodded  at  him,  and  disappeared  into  the 
office. 

Bob  turned  to  Amy  with  a  laughing  comment  that  died  on 
his  lips.  The  girl  was  standing  very  straight  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table.  One  little  brown  hand  grasped  and 
crushed  the  edge  of  her  starched  apron;  her  black  brows 
were  drawn  in  a  straight  line  of  indignation  beneath  which  her 
splendid  eyes  flashed;  her  rounded  bosom,  half -denned  by  the 
loose,  soft  blue  of  her  simple  gown,  rose  and  fell  rapidly. 

"And  you're  going  to  do  it?"  she  threw  across  at  him. 

Bob,  bewildered,  stared  at  her. 

"You're  going  to  deliver  over  your  friend  to  prison?" 
She  moved  swiftly  around  the  table  to  stand  close  to  him. 
"Surely  you  can't  mean  to  do  that!  You've  worked  with 
him,  and  lived  with  him  —  and  he's  a  dear,  jolly  old  man!" 

"Hold  on!"  cried  Bob,  recovering  from  the  first  shock, 
and  beginning  to  enjoy  the  situation.  "You  don't  under- 
stand. If  I  don't  give  my  testimony,  think  what  the  Service 
will  lose  in  the  Basin." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          60 1 

"Lose!"  she  cried  indignantly.  "What  of  it?  Do  you 
think  if  I  had  a  friend  who  was  near  and  dear  to  me  I'd  sacri- 
fice him  for  all  the  trees  in  the  mountains?  How  can  you!" 

"Et  tu  Brute!"  said  Bob  a  little  wearily.  "Where  is  all 
the  no-compromise  talk  I've  heard  at  various  times,  and 
the  high  ideals,  and  the  loyalty  to  the  Service  at  any  cost, 
and  all  the  rest  of  it?  You're  not  consistent." 

Amy  eyed  him  a  little  disdainfully. 

"  You've  got  to  save  that  poor  old  man,"  she  stated.  "  It's 
all  very  easy  for  you  to  talk  of  duty  and  the  rest  of  it,  but  the , 
fact  remains  that  you're  sending  that  poor  old  man  to  prison 
for  something  that  isn't  his  fault,  and  it'll  break  his  heart." 

"He  isn't  there  yet,"  Bob  pointed  out.  "The  case  isn't 
decided." 

"It's  all  very  well  for  you  to  talk  that  way,"  said  Amy, 
"  for  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  satisfy  your  conscience  and  bear 
your  testimony.  But  if  testifying  would  land  you  in  danger 
of  prison,  you  might  feel  differently  about  it." 

Bob  thought  of  George  Pollock,  and  smiled  a  trifle  bitterly. 
Welton  might  get  off  with  a  fine,  or  even  suspended  sentence. 
There  was  but  one  punishment  for  those  accessory  before 
the  fact  to  a  murder.  Amy  was  eyeing  him  reflectively. 
The  appearance  of  anger  had  died.  It  was  evident  that  she 
was  thinking  deeply. 

"Why  doesn't  Mr.  Welton  protect  himself?"  she  inquired 
at  length.  "If  he  turned  state's  evidence  before  that  man 
Baker  did,  wouldn't  it  work  that  way  around?" 

"I  don't  believe  it  would,"  said  Bob.  "Baker  was  not 
the  real  principal  in  the  offence,  only  an  accessory.  Besides, 
even  if  it  were  possible,  Mr.  Welton  would  not  do  such  a 
thing.  You  don't  know  Welton." 

Amy  sank  again  to  reflection,  her  eyes  losing  themselves 
in  a  gaze  beyond  the  visible  world.  Suddenly  she  threw  up 
her  head  with  a  joyous  chuckle. 

"I  believe  I  have  it!"  she  cried.  She  nodded  her  head 
several  times  as  though  to  corroborate  with  herself  certain 


602          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

points  in  her  plan.  "  Listen ! "  she  said  at  last.  "  As  I  under- 
stand it,  Baker  is  really  liable  on  this  charge  of  bribing  Plant 
as  much  as  Mr.  Welton  is." 

"Yes;  he  paid  the  money.7' 

"  So  that  if  it  were  not  for  the  fact  that  he  intends  to  gain 
immunity  by  telling  what  he  knows,  he  would  get  into  as 
much  trouble  as  Mr.  Welton." 

"Of  course." 

"Well,  don't  you  know  enough  about  it  all  to  testify? 
Weren't  you  there?" 

Bob  reflected. 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  was  present  at  all  the  interviews." 

"Then,"  cried  Amy  triumphantly,  "you  can  issue 
complaint  against  both  Baker  and  Mr.  V/elton  on  a  charge  of 
bribery,  and  Baker  can't  possibly  wriggle  out  by  turning 
state's  evidence,  because  your  evidence  will  be  enough." 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  have  Mr.  Welton  arrested  on  this 
charge?"  cried  Bob. 

"No,  silly!  But  you  can  go  to  Baker,  can't  you,  and  say 
to  him:  'See  here,  if  you  try  to  bring  up  this  old  bribery 
charge  against  Welton,  I'll  get  in  ahead  of  you  and  have  you 
both  up.  I  haven't  any  desire  to  raise  a  fuss,  nor  start  any 
trouble;  but  if  you  are  bound  to  get  Mr.  Welton  in  on  this, 
I  might  as  well  get  you  both  in.'  He'd  back  out,  you  see!" 

"I  believe  he  would!"  cried  Bob.  "It's  a  good  bluff  to 
make." 

"It  mustn't  be  a  bluff,"  warned  Amy.  "You  must  mean 
it.  I  don't  believe  he  wants  to  face  a  criminal  charge  just 
to  get  Mr.  Welton  in  trouble,  if  he  realizes  that  you  are  both 
going  to  testify  anyway.  But  if  he  thinks  you're  bluffing, 
he'll  carry  it  through." 

"You're  right,"  said  Bob  slowly.  "If  necessary,  we  must 
carry  it  through  ourselves." 

Amy  nodded. 

"I'll  take  down  a  letter  for  you  to  Baker,"  she  said,  "and 
type  it  out  this  evening.  We'll  say  nothing  to  anybody." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          603 

"I  must  tell  Welton  of  our  plan,"  said  Bob;  "I  wouldn't 
for  the  world  have  to  spring  this  on  him  unprepared.  What 
would  he  think  of  me?" 

"We'll  see  him  to-morrow  —  no,  next  day;  we  have  to 
wait  for  Ware,  you  know." 

"Am  I  forgiven  for  doing  my  plain  duty?"  asked  Bob  a 
trifle  mischievously. 

"  Only  if  our  scheme  works,"  declared  Amy.  Her  manner 
changed  to  one  of  great  seriousness.  "I  know  your  way  is 
brave  and  true,  believe  me  I  do.  And  I  know  what  it  costs 
you  to  follow  it.  I  respect  and  admire  the  quality  in  men 
that  leads  them  so  straightly  along  the  path.  But  I  could 
not  do  it.  Ideas  and  things  are  inspiring  and  great  and  to 
be  worked  for  with  enthusiasm  and  devotion,  I  know.  No 
one  loves  the  Service  more  than  I,  nor  would  make  more 
personal  sacrifices  for  her.  But  people  are  warm  and  living, 
and  their  hearts  beat  with  human  life,  and  they  can  be  sorry 
and  glad,  happy  and  broken-hearted.  I  can't  tell  you  quite 
what  I  mean,  for  I  cannot  even  tell  myself.  I  only  feel  it. 
I  could  turn  my  thumbs  down  on  whole  cohorts  of  senators 
and  lawyers  and  demagogues  that  are  attacking  us  in  Wash- 
ington and  read  calmly  in  next  day's  paper  how  they  had 
been  beheaded  recanting  all  their  sins  against  us.  But  I 
couldn't  get  any  nearer  home.  Why,  the  other  day  Ashley 
told  me  to  send  a  final  and  peremptory  notice  of  dispossession 
to  the  Main  family,  over  near  Bald  Knob,  and  I  couldn't  do 
it.  I  tried  all  day.  I  knew  old  Main  had  no  business  there, 
and  is  worthless  and  lazy  and  shiftless.  But  I  kept  remem- 
bering how  his  poor  old  back  was  bent  over.  Finally  I 
made  Ashley  dictate  it,  and  tried  to  keep  thinking  all  the 
time  that  I  was  nothing  but  a  machine  for  the  transmission 
of  his  ideas.  When  it  comes  to  such  things  I'm  useless, 
and  I  know  I  fall  short  of  all  higher  ideals  of  honour  and 
duty  and  everything  else." 

"Thank  God  you  do,"  said  Bob  gravely. 


XXXII 

WARE  returned  to  headquarters  toward  evening 
of  the  next  day.  He  had  ridden  hard  and 
long,  but  he  listened  to  Thome's  definition 
of  his  new  duties  with  kindling  eye,  and  considerable 
appearance  of  quiet  satisfaction.  Bob  met  him  outside 
the  office. 

"You  aren't  living  up  to  your  part,  Ware,"  said  he,  with 
mock  anxiety.  "  According  to  Hoyle  you  ought  to  draw 
your  gun,  whirl  the  cylinder,  and  murmur  gently,  Aha!" 

"Why  should  I  do  that?"  asked  Ware,  considerably 
mystified. 

"To  see  if  your  weapon  is  in  order,  of  course." 

"How  would  a  fool  trick  like  that  show  whether  my  gun's 
in  shape?" 

"Hanged  if  I  know,"  confessed  Bob,  "but  they  always  do 
that  in  books  and  on  the  stage." 

"Well,  my  gun  will  shoot,"  said  Ware,  shortly. 

It  was  then  too  late  to  visit  Welton  that  evening,  but  at 
a  good  hour  the  following  morning  Bob  announced  his 
intention  of  going  over  to  the  mill. 

"If  you're  going  to  be  my  faithful  guardian, 
you'll  have  to  walk,"  he  told  Ware.  "My  horse  is 
up  north  somewhere,  and  there  isn't  another  saddle  in 
camp." 

"I'm  willing,"  said  Ware;  "my  animals  are  plumb  needy 
of  a  rest." 

At  the  last  moment  Amy  joined  them. 

"I  have  a  day  off  instead  of  Sunday,"  she  told  them, 
"and  you're  the  first  humans  that  have  discovered  what 

604 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          605 

two  feet  are  made  for.  I  never  can  get  anybody  to  walk 
two  steps  with  me,"  she  complained. 

"Never  tried  before  you  acquired  those  beautiful  gray 
elkskin  boots  with  the  ravishing  hobnails  in  'em,"  chaffed 
Bob. 

Amy  said  nothing,  but  her  cheeks  burned  with  two  red 
spots.  She  chatted  eagerly,  too  eagerly,  trying  to  throw  into 
the  expedition  the  air  of  a  holiday  excursion.  Bob  responded 
to  her  rather  feverish  gaiety,  but  Ware  looked  at  her  with 
an  eye  in  which  comprehension  was  slowly  dawning.  He 
had  nothing  to  add  to  the  rapid-fire  conversation.  Finally 
Amy  inquired  with  mock  anxiety,  over  his  unwonted  silence. 

"I'm  on  my  job,"  replied  Ware  briefly. 

This  silenced  her  for  a  moment  or  so,  while  she  examined 
the  woods  about  them  with  furtive,  searching  glances  as 
though  their  shadows  might  conceal  an  enemy. 

To  Bob,  at  least,  the  morning  conduced  to  gaiety,  for  the 
air  was  crisp  and  sparkling  with  the  wine  of  early  fall. 
Down  through  the  sombre  pines,  here  and  there,  flamed 
the  delicate  pink  of  a  dogwood,  the  orange  of  the  azaleas, 
or  the  golden  yellow  of  aspens  ripening  already  under  the 
hurrying  of  early  frosts.  The  squirrels,  Stellar's  jays,  wood- 
peckers, nuthatches  and  chickadees  were  very  busy  scur- 
rying here  and  there,  screaming  gossip,  or  moving  dili- 
gently and  methodically  as  their  natures  were.  All  the 
rest  of  the  forest  was  silent.  Not  a  breath  of  wind  stirred 
the  tallest  fir-tip  or  swayed  the  most  lofty  pine  branch. 
Through  the  woodland  spaces  the  sunlight  sparkled  with 
the  inconceivable  brilliance  of  the  higher  levels,  as  though 
the  air  were  filled  with  glittering  particles  in  suspension, 
like  the  mica  snowstorms  of  the  peep  shows  inside  a  child's 
candy  egg. 

They  dipped  into  the  canon  of  the  creek  and  out  agaiK 
through  the  yellow  pines  of  the  other  side.  They  skirted 
the  edge  of  the  ancient  clearing  for  the  almost  prehistoric  mill 
that  had  supplied  early  settlers  with  their  lumber,  and  thence 


606          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

looked  out  through  trees  to  the  brown  and  shimmering  plain 
lying  far  below. 

"My,  I'm  glad  I'm  not  there!''  exclaimed  Amy  fervently: 
"I  always  say  that,"  she  added. 

"A  hundred  and  eleven  day  before  yesterday,  Jack  Pol- 
lock says,"  remarked  Bob. 

So  at  last  they  gained  the  long  ridge  leading  toward  the 
mill  and  saw  a  hundred  feet  away  the  mill  road,  and  the 
forks  where  their  own  wagon  trail  joined  it. 

At  this  point  they  again  entered  the  forest,  screened  by 
young  growth  and  a  thicket  of  alders. 

"Look  there,"  Amy  pointed  out.  "See  that  dogwood,  up 
by  the  yellow  pine.  It's  the  most  splendiferous  we've  seen 
yet.  Wait  a  minute.  I'm  going  to  get  a  branch  of  it  for 
Mr.  Welton's  office.  I  don't  believe  anybody  ever  picks 
anything  for  him." 

"Let  me '  began  Bob;  but  she  was  already  gone, 

calling  back  over  her  shoulder. 

"No;   this  is  my  treat!" 

The  men  stopped  in  the  wagon  trail  to  wait  for  her.  Bob 
watched  with  distinct  pleasure  her  lithe,  active  figure  mak- 
ing its  way  through  the  tangle  of  underbrush,  finally  emerg- 
ing into  the  clear  and  climbing  with  swift,  sure  movements 
to  the  little  elevation  on  which  grew  the  beautiful,  pink- 
leaved  dogwoods.  She  turned  when  she  had  gained  the 
level  of  the  yellow  pine,  to  wave  her  hand  at  her  companions. 
Even  at  the  distance,  Bob  could  make  out  the  flush  of  her 
cheeks  and  divine  the  delighted  sparkle  of  her  eyes. 

But  as  she  turned,  her  gesture  was  arrested  in  midair, 
and  almost  instantly  she  uttered  a  piercing  scream.  Bob 
had  time  to  take  a  half  step  forward.  Then  a  heavy  blow 
on  the  back  of  his  neck  threw  him  forward.  He  stumbled 
and  fell  on  his  face.  As  he  left  his  feet,  the  crash  of  two 
revolver  shots  in  quick  succession  rang  in  his  ears. 


XXXIII 

OLDHAM'S  cold  rage  carried  him  to  the  railroad  and 
into  his  berth.  Then,  with  the  regular  beat  and 
throb  of  the  carwheeis  over  the  sleepers,  other 
considerations  forced  themselves  upon  him.  Consequences 
demanded  recognition. 

The  land  agent  had  not  for  many  years  permitted  him- 
self to  act  on  impulse.  Therefore  this  one  lapse  from 
habit  alarmed  him  vaguely  by  the  mere  fact  that  it  was  a 
lapse  from  habit.  He  distrusted  himself  in  an  unaccus- 
tomed environment  of  the  emotions. 

But  superinduced  on  this  formless  uneasiness  were  graver 
considerations.  He  could  not  but  admit  to  himself  that 
he  had  by  his  expressed  order  placed  himself  to  some  extent 
in  Saleratus  Bill's  power.  He  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt 
the  gun-man's  loyal  intentions.  As  long  as  things  went 
well  he  would  do  his  best  by  his  employer  —  if  merely  to 
gain  the  reward  promised  him  only  on  fulfillment  of  his 
task.  But  it  is  not  easy  to  commit  a  murder  undetected. 
And  if  detected,  Oldham  had  no  illusions  as  to  Saleratus 
Bill.  The  gun-man  would  promptly  shelter  himself  behind 
his  principal. 

As  the  night  went  on,  and  Oldham  found  himself  unable 
to  sleep  in  the  terrible  heat,  the  situation  visualized  itself. 
Step  by  step  he  followed  out  the  sequence  of  events  as  they 
might  be,  filling  in  the  minutest  details  of  discovery,  expo- 
sure and  ruin.  Gradually,  in  the  tipped  balance  of  after 
midnight,  events  as  they  might  be  became  events  as  they 
surely  would  be.  Oldham  began  to  see  that  he  had  made 
a  fearful  mistake.  No  compunction  entered  his  mind 

607 


6o8          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

that  he  had  condemned  a  man  to  death;  but  a  cold  fear 
gripped  him  lest  his  share  should  be  discovered,  and  he 
should  be  called  upon  to  face  the  consequences.  Oldham 
enjoyed  and  could  play  only  the  game  that  was  safe  so  far 
as  physical  and  personal  retribution  went. 

So  deeply  did  the  guilty  panic  invade  his  soul  that  after 
a  time  he  arose  and  dressed.  The  sleepy  porter  was  just 
turning  out  from  the  smoking  compartment. 

"What's  this  next  station?"  Oldham  demanded. 

"Mo-harvey,"  blinked  the  porter. 

"I  get  off  there,"  stated  Oldham  briefly. 

The  porter  stared  at  him. 

"I  done  thought  you  went  'way  through,"  he  confessed. 
"I'se  scairt  I  done  forgot  you." 

"All  right,"  said  Oldham  curtly,  and  handing  him  a 
tip.  "Never  mind  that  confounded  brush;  get  my  suit 
case." 

Ten  seconds  later  he  stood  on  the  platform  of  the  little 
station  in  the  desert  while  the  tail  lights  of  the  train  dimin- 
ished slowly  into  the  distance. 

The  desert  lay  all  about  him  like  a  calmed  sea  on  which 
were  dim  half-lights  of  sage  brush  or  alkali  flats.  On  a 
distant  horizon  slept  black  mountain  ranges,  stretched  low 
under  a  brilliant  sky  that  arched  triumphant.  In  it  the 
stars  flamed  steadily  like  candles,  after  the  strange  desert 
fashion.  Although  by  day  the  heat  would  have  scorched 
the  boards  on  which  he  stood,  now  Oldham  shivered  in 
the  searching  of  the  cool  insistent  night  wind  that  breathed 
across  the  great  spaces. 

He  turned  to  the  lighted  windows  of  the  little  station  where 
a  tousled  operator  sat  at  a  telegraph  key.  A  couch  in  the 
comer  had  been  recently  deserted.  The  fact  that  the  oper- 
ator was  still  awake  and  on  duty  argued  well  for  another 
train  soon.  Oldham  proffered  his  question. 

"Los  Angeles  express  due  now.  Half-hour  late,"  replied 
the  operator  wearily,  without  looking  up. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          609 

Oldham  caught  the  train,  which  landed  him  in  White 
Oaks  about  noon.  There  he  hired  a  team,  and  drove  the  sixty 
miles  to  Sycamore  Flats  by  eleven  o'clock  that  night.  The 
fear  was  growing  in  his  heart,  and  he  had  to  lay  on  himself 
a  strong  retaining  hand  to  keep  from  lashing  his  horses 
beyond  their  endurance  and  strength.  Sycamore  Flats  was, 
of  course,  long  since  abed.  In  spite  of  his  wild  impatience 
Oldham  retained  enough  sense  to  know  that  it  would  not 
do  to  awaken  any  one  for  the  sole  purpose  of  inquiring 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  Saleratus  Bill.  That  would  too 
obviously  connect  him  with  the  gun-man.  Therefore  he 
stabled  his  horses,  roused  one  of  the  girls  at  Auntie  Belle's, 
and  retired  to  the  little  box  room  assigned  him. 

There  nature  asserted  herself.  The  man  had  not  slept 
for  two  nights;  he  had  travelled  many  miles  on  horseback, 
by  train,  and  by  buckboard;  he  had  experienced  the  most 
exhausting  of  emotions  and  experiences.  He  fell  asleep, 
and  he  did  not  awaken  until  after  sun-up. 

Promptly  he  began  his  inquiries.  Saleratus  Bill  had 
passed  through  the  night  before;  he  had  ridden  up  the 
mill  road. 

Oldham  ate  his  breakfast,  saddled  one  of  the  team  horses, 
and  followed.  Ordinarily,  he  was  little  of  a  woodsman, 
but  his  anxiety  sharpened  his  wits  and  his  eyes,  so  that  a 
quarter  mile  from  the  summit  he  noticed  where  a  shod 
horse  had  turned  off  from  the  road.  After  a  moment's 
hesitation  he  turned  his  own  animal  to  follow  the  trail. 
The  horse  tracks  were  evidently  fresh,  and  Oldham  sur- 
mised that  it  was  hardly  probable  two  horsemen  had  as  yet 
that  morning  travelled  the  mill  road.  While  he  debated, 
young  Elliott  swung  down  the  dusty  way  headed  toward 
the  village.  He  greeted  Oldham. 

" Is  Orde  back  at  headquarters  yet?"  the  latter  asked, 
on  impulse. 

"Yes,  he  got  back  day  before  yesterday,"  the  young 
ranger  replied;  "but  you  won't  find  him  there  this  morn- 


6  io          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

ing.  He  walked  over  to  the  mill  to  see  Welton.  You'd 
probably  get  him  there." 

Oldham  waited  only  until  Elliott  had  rounded  the  next 
corner,  then  spurred  his  horse  up  the  mountain.  The  sig- 
nificance of  the  detour  was  now  no  longer  in  doubt,  for  he 
remembered  well  how  and  where  the  wagon  trail  from 
headquarters  joined  the  mill  road.  Saleratus  Bill  would 
leave  his  horse  out  of  sight  on  the  hog-back  ridge,  sneak 
forward  afoot,  and  ambush  his  man  at  the  forks  of  the  road. 

And  now,  in  the  clairvoyance  of  this  guilty  terror,  Old- 
ham  saw  as  assured  facts  several  further  possibilities. 
Saleratus  Bill  was  known  to  have  ridden  up  the  mill  road; 
he,  Oldham,  was  known  to  have  been  inquiring  after  both 
Saleratus  Bill  and  Orde  —  in  short,  out  of  wild  improba- 
bilities, which  to  his  ordinary  calm  judgment  would  have 
meant  nothing  at  all,  he  now  wove  a  tissue  of  danger.  He 
wished  he  had  thought  to  ask  Elliott  how  long  ago  Orde 
had  started  out  from  headquarters. 

The  last  pitch  up  the  mountain  was  by  necessity  a  fear- 
ful grade,  for  it  had  to  surmount  as  best  it  could  the  ledge 
at  the  crest  of  the  plateau.  Horsemen  here  were  accustomed 
to  pause  every  fifty  feet  or  so  to  allow  their  mounts  a  gulp 
of  air.  Oldham  plied  lash  and  spur.  He  came  out  from 
his  frenzy  of  panic  to  find  his  horse,  completely  blown, 
lying  down  under  him.  The  animal,  already  weary  from 
its  sixty-mile  drive  of  yesterday,  was  quite  done.  After  a 
futile  effort  to  make  it  rise,  Oldham  realized  this  fact.  He 
pursued  his  journey  afoot. 

Somewhat  sobered  and  brought  to  his  senses  by  this 
accident,  Oldham  trudged  on  as  rapidly  as  his  wind  would 
allow.  As  he  neared  the  crossroads  he  slackened  his  pace, 
for  he  saw  that  no  living  creature  moved  on  the  headquar- 
ters fork  of  the  road.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  at  that  precise 
instant  both  Bob  and  Ware  were  within  forty  yards  of  him, 
standing  still  waiting  for  Amy  to  collect  her  dogwood  leaves. 
A  single  small  alder  concealed  them  from  the  other  road. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          6n 

If  they  had  not  happened  to  have  stopped,  two  seconds 
would  have  brought  them  into  sight  in  either  direction. 
Therefore,  Oldham  thought  the  road  empty,  and  himself 
came  to  a  halt  to  catch  his  breath  and  mop  his  brow. 

As  he  replaced  his  hat,  his  eye  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  man 
crouching  and  gliding  cautiously  forward  through  the  low 
concealment  of  the  snowbush.  His  movements  were  quick, 
his  head  was  craned  forward,  every  muscle  was  taut,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  some  object  invisible  to  Oldham  with  an  inten- 
sity that  evidently  excluded  from  the  field  of  his  vision  every- 
thing but  that  toward  which  his  lithe  and  snake-like  advance 
was  bringing  him.  In  his  hand  he  carried  the  worn  and 
shining  Colts  45  that  was  always  his  inseparable  compan- 
ion. 

Oldham  made  a  single  step  forward.  At  the  same  moment 
somewhere  above  him  on  the  hill  a  woman  screamed.  The 
cry  was  instantly  followed  by  two  revolver  shots. 


XXXIV 

WARE  was  an  expert  gun-man  who  had  survived 
the  early  days  of  Arizona,  New  Mexico,  and  the 
later  ruffianism  of  the  border  on  Old  Mexico. 
His  habit  was  at  all  times  alert.  Now,  in  especial,  behind 
his  casual  conversation,  he  had  been  straining  his  finer 
senses  for  the  first  intimations  of  danger.  For  perhaps  six 
seconds  before  Amy  cried  out  he  had  been  aware  of  an 
unusual  faint  sound  heard  beneath  rather  than  above  the 
cheerful  and  accustomed  noises  of  the  forest.  It  baffled 
him.  If  he  had  imposed  silence  on  his  companion,  and  had 
set  himself  to  listening,  he  might  have  been  able  to  identify 
and  localize  it,  but  it  really  presented  nothing  alarming 
enough.  It  might  have  been  a  squirrel  playfully  spasmodic, 
or  the  leisurely  step  forward  of  some  hidden  and  distant 
cow  browsing  among  the  bushes.  Ware  lent  an  attentive 
ear  to  the  quiet  sounds  of  the  woodland,  but  continued  to 
stand  at  ease  and  unalarmed. 

The  scream,  however,  released  instantly  the  springs  of  his 
action.  With  the  heel  of  his  left  palm  he  dealt  Bob  so  violent 
a  shoving  blow  that  the  young  man  was  thrown  forward 
off  his  feet.  As  part  of  the  same  motion  his  right  hand 
snatched  his  weapon  from  its  holster,  threw  the  muzzle  over 
his  left  shoulder,  and  discharged  the  revolver  twice  in  the 
direction  from  which  Ware  all  at  once  realized  the  sound 
had  proceeded.  So  quickly  did  the  man's  brain  act,  so 
instantly  did  his  muscles  follow  his  brain,  that  the  scream, 
the  blow,  and  the  two  shots  seemed  to  go  off  together  as 
though  fired  by  one  fuse. 

Bob  bounded  to  his  feet.     Ware  had  whirled  in  his  tracks, 

612 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          613 

had  crouched,  and  was  glaring  fixedly  across  the  openings 
at  the  forks.  The  revolver  smoked  in  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  are  you  hurt  ?  Are  you  hurt  ?"  Amy  was  crying  over 
and  over,  as,  regardless  of  the  stiff  manzanita  and  the  spiny 
deer  brush,  she  tore  her  way  down  the  hill. 

"All  right!  All  right!"  Bob  found  his  breath  to  assure 
her. 

She  stopped  short,  clenched  her  hands  at  her  sides,  and 
drew  a  deep,  sobbing  breath.  Then,  quite  collectedly,  she 
began  to  disentangle  herself  from  the  difficulties  into  which 
her  haste  had  precipitated  her. 

"It's  all  right,"  she  called  to  Ware.  "He's  gone.  He's 
run." 

Still  tense,  Ware  rose  to  his  full  height.  He  let  down  the 
hammer  of  his  six-shooter,  and  dropped  the  weapon  back 
in  its  holster. 

"What  was  it,  Amy?"  he  asked,  as  the  girl  rejoined 
them. 

"Saleratus  Bill,"  she  panted.  "He  had  his  gun  in  his 
hand." 

Bob  was  looking  about  him  a  trifle  bewildered. 

"  I  thought  for  a  minute  I  was  hit,"  said  he. 

"I  knocked  you  down  to  get  you  down,"  explained  Ware. 
"  If  there's  shooting  going  on,  it's  best  to  get  low." 

"Thought  I  was  shot,"  confessed  Bob.  "I  heard  two 
shots." 

"I  fired  twice,"  said  Ware.  "Thought  sure  I  must  have 
hit,  or  he'd  have  fired  back.  Otherwise  I'd  a'  kept  shoot- 
ing. You  say  he  run  ?  " 

"  Immediately.     Didn't  you  see  him  ?  " 

"I  just  cut  loose  at  the  noise  he  made.  Why  do  you  sup- 
pose he  didn't  shoot  ?  " 

"Maybe  he  wasn't  gunning  for  us  after  all,"  suggested 
Bob. 

"Maybe  you've  got  another  think  coming,"  said  Ware. 

During  this  short  exchange  they  were  all  three  moving 


6 14          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

down  the  wagon  trail.  Ware's  keen  old  eyes  v/ere  glancing 
to  right,  left  and  ahead,  and  his  ears  fairly  twitched.  In 
spite  of  his  conversation  and  speculations,  he  was  fully  alive 
to  the  possibilities  of  further  danger. 

"He  maybe's  laying  for  us  yet,"  said  Bob,  as  the  thought 
finally  occurred  to  him.  "  Better  have  your  gun  handy." 

"My  gun's  always  handy,"  said  Ware. 

"You're  bearing  too  far  south,"  interposed  the  girl.  "He 
v;as  more  up  this  way." 

"Don't  think  it,"  said  Ware. 

"Yes,"  she  insisted.  "I  marked  that  young  fir  near 
where  I  first  saw  him;  and  he  ran  low  around  that  clump 
of  manzanita." 

Still  skeptical,  Ware  joined  her. 

"That's  right,"  he  admitted,  after  a  moment.  "Here's 
his  trail.  I'd  have  swore  he  was  farther  south.  That's 
where  I  fired.  I  only  missed  him  by  about  a  hundred  yards, ' ' 
he  grinned.  "He  sure  made  a  mighty  tall  sneak.  I'm  still 
figuring  why  he  didn't  open  fire." 

"Waiting  for  a  better  chance,  maybe,"  suggested 
Amy. 

"Must  be.  But  what  better  chance  does  he  want,  unless 
he  aims  to  get  Bob  here,  with  a  club?" 

They  followed  the  tracks  left  by  Saleratus  Bill  until  it  was 
evident  beyond  doubt  that  the  gun-man  had  in  reality 
departed.  Then  they  started  to  retrace  their  steps. 

"Why  not  cut  across?"  asked  Bob. 

"I  want  to  see  whereabouts  I  was  shooting,"  said  Ware. 

"We'll  cut  across  and  wait  for  you  on  the  road." 

"All  right,"  Ware  agreed. 

They  made  their  short-cut,  and  waited.  After  a  minute 
or  so  Ware  shouted  to  them. 

"Hullo!"  Bob  answered. 

"Come  here!" 

They  returned  down  the  dusty  mill  road.  Just  beyond 
the  forks  Ware  was  standing,  looking  down  at  some  object. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          615 

As  they  approached  he  raised  his  face  to  them.  Even  under 
its  tan,  it  was  pale. 

"Guess  this  is  another  case  of  innocent  bystander,"  said 
he  gravely. 

Flat  on  his  back,  arms  outstretched  in  the  dust,  lay  Old- 
ham,  with  a  bullet  hole  accurately  in  the  middle  of  his 
forehead. 


XXXV 

GOOD  HEAVENS!"  cried  Amy.    "What  an  awful 
thing!" 
"Yes,  ma'am,"    said  Ware;  "this    is  certainly 
tough.     But   I   can't   see   but   it   was   a    plumb  accident. 
Who'd  have  thought  he'd  be  coming  along  the  road  just  at 
that  minute. " 

"Of  course,  you're  not  to  blame,"  Amy  reassured  him 
quickly.  "We  must  get  help.  Of  course,  he's  quite  dead." 

Ware  nodded,  gazing  down  at  his  victim  reflectively. 

"I  was  shootin'  a  little  high,"  he  remarked  at  last. 

Up  to  this  moment  Bob  had  said  nothing. 

"If  it  will  relieve  your  mind,  any,"  he  told  Ware,  "it 
isn't  such  a  case  of  innocent  bystander  as  you  may  think. 
This  man  is  the  one  who  hired  Saleratus  Bill  to  abduct  me 
in  the  first  place;  and  probably  to  kill  me  in  the  second.  I 
have  a  suspicion  he  got  what  he  deserved." 

"Oh!"  cried  Amy,  looking  at  him  reproachfully. 

"It's  a  fact,"  Bob  insisted.  "I  know  his  connection  with 
all  this  better  than  you  do,  and  his  being  on  this  road  was  no 
accident.  It  was  to  see  his  orders  carried  out." 

Ware  was  looking  at  him  shrewdly. 

"That  fits,"  he  declared.  "I  couldn't  figure  why  my 
old  friend  Bill  didn't  cut  loose.  But  he's  got  a  head  on 
him." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  when  he  see  Oldham  dropped,  what  use  was  there 
of  going  to  shooting  ?  It  would  just  make  trouble  for  him 
and  he  couldn't  hope  for  no  pay.  He  just  faded." 

"  He's  a  quick  thinker,  then,"  said  Bob. 

616 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME         617 

"You  bet  you!" 

The  two  men  laid  Oldham's  body  under  the  shade.  As 
they  disposed  it  decently,  Bob  experienced  again  that  haunt- 
ing sense  of  having  known  him  elsewhere  that  had  on  several 
occasions  assailed  his  memory.  The  man's  face  was  familiar 
to  him  with  a  familiarity  that  Bob  somehow  felt  antedated  his 
California  acquaintance. 

"  We  must  get  to  the  mill  and  send  a  wagon  for  him,"  Ware 
was  saying. 

But  Amy  suddenly  turned  faint,  and  was  unable  to  pro- 
ceed. 

"It's  perfectly  silly  of  me!"  she  cried  indignantly.  "The 
idea  of  my  feeling  faint!  It  makes  me  so  angry  1" 

"It's  perfectly  natural,"  Bob  told  her.  "I  think  you've 
shown  a  heap  of  nerve.  Most  girls  would  have  flopped 
over." 

The  men  helped  her  to  a  streamlet  some  hundreds  of 
yards  away.  Here  it  was  agreed  that  Ware  should  proceed 
in  search  of  a  conveyance;  and  that  Bob  and  Amy  should 
there  await  his  return. 


XXXVI 

WARE  disappeared  rapidly  up  the  dusty  road,  Bob 
and  Amy  standing  side  by  side  in  silence,  watch- 
ing him  go.  When  the  lean,  long  figure  of  the  old 
mountaineer  had  quite  disappeared,  and  the  light,  eddying 
dust,  peculiar  to  the  Sierra  country,  had  died,  Amy  closed 
her  eyes,  raised  her  hand  to  her  heart,  and  sank  slowly  to  the 
bank  of  the  little  creek.  Her  vivid  colour,  which  had  for  a 
moment  returned  under  the  influence  of  her  strong  will  and 
her  indignation  over  her  weakness,  had  again  ebbed  from  her 
cheeks. 

Bob,  with  an  exclamation  of  alarm,  dropped  to  her  side 
and  passed  his  arm  back  of  her  shoulders.  As  she  felt  the 
presence  of  his  support,  she  let  slip  the  last  desperate  holdings 
of  physical  command,  and  leaned  back  gratefully,  breathing 
hard,  her  eyes  still  closed. 

After  a  moment  she  opened  them  long  enough  to  smile 
palely  at  the  anxious  face  of  the  young  man. 

"It's  all  right,"  she  said.  "I'm  all  right.  Don't  be 
alarmed.  Just  let  me  rest  a  minute.  I'll  be  all  right." 

She  closed  her  eyes  again.  Bob,  watching,  saw  the  colour 
gradually  flowing  up  under  her  skin,  and  was  reassured. 

The  girl  lay  against  his  arm  limply.  At  first  he  was  con- 
cerned merely  with  the  supporting  of  the  slight  burden; 
careful  to  hold  her  as  comfortably  as  possible.  Then  the 
warmth  of  her  body  penetrated  to  his  arm.  A  new  emotion 
invaded  him,  feeble  in  the  beginning,  but  gaining  strength 
from  instant  to  instant.  It  mounted  his  breast  as  a  tide 
would  mount,  until  it  had  shortened  his  breath,  set  his  heart 
to  thumping  dully,  choked  his  throat.  He  looked  down  at 

618 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          619 

her  with  troubled  eyes,  following  the  curve  of  her  upturned 
face,  the  long  line  of  her  throat  exposed  by  the  backward 
thrown  position  of  her  head,  the  swell  of  her  breast  under  the 
thin  gown.  The  helplessness  of  the  pose  caught  at  Bob's 
heart.  For  the  first  time  Amy  —  the  vivid,  self-reliant,  cap- 
able, laughing  Amy  —  appealed  to  him  as  a  being  demand- 
ing protection,  as  a  woman  with  a  woman's  instinctive  crav- 
ing for  cherishing,  as  a  delicious,  soft,  feminine  creature, 
calling  forth  the  tendernesses  of  a  man's  heart.  In  the  nor- 
mal world  of  everyday  association  this  side  of  her  had  never 
been  revealed,  never  suspected;  yet  now,  here,  it  rose  up  to 
throw  into  insignificance  all  the  other  qualities  of  the  girl  he 
had  known.  Bob  spared  a  swift  thought  of  gratitude  to  the 
chance  that  had  revealed  to  him  this  unguessed,  intimate 
phase  of  womanhood. 

And  then  the  insight  with  which  the  significant  moment 
had  endowed  him  leaped  to  the  simple  comprehension  of 
another  thought  —  that  this  revelation  of  intimacy,  of  the 
woman-appeal  lying  unguessed  beneath  the  comradeship  of 
everyday  life,  was  after  all  only  a  matter  of  chance.  It  had 
been  revealed  to  him  by  the  accident  of  a  moment's  faint- 
ness,  by  which  the  conscious  will  of  the  girl  had  been  driven 
back  from  the  defences.  In  a  short  time  it  would  be  over. 
She  would  resume  her  ordinary  demeanour,  her  ordinary 
interest,  her  ordinary  bright,  cheerful,  attractive,  matter-of- 
fact,  efficient  self.  Everything  would  be  as  before.  But  — 
and  here  Bob's  breath  came  quickest  —  in  the  great  good- 
ness of  the  world  lay  another  possibility;  that  sometime,  at 
the  call  of  some  one  person,  for  that  one  and  no  other,  this 
inner  beautiful  soul  of  the  feminine  appeal  would  come  forth 
freely,  consciously,  willingly. 

Amy  opened  her  eyes,  sat  up,  shook  herself  slightly,  and 
laughed. 

"I'm  all  right  now,"  she  told  Bob,  "and  certainly  very 
much  ashamed." 

"Amy!"  he  stammered. 


620          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

She  shot  a  swift  look  at  him,  and  immediately  arose  to  her 
feet. 

"We  will  have  to  testify  at  a  coroner's  inquest,  I  presume," 
said  she,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  tones. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  agreed  Bob  morosely.  It  is  impossible  to 
turn  back  all  the  strongly  set  currents  of  life  without  at  least 
a  temporary  turmoil. 

Amy  glanced  at  him  sideways,  and  smiled  a  faint,  wise  smile 
to  herself.  For  in  these  matters,  while  men  are  more  analytical 
after  the  fact,  women  are  by  nature  more  informed.  She 
said  nothing,  but  stooped  to  the  creek  for  a  drink.  When 
she  had  again  straightened  to  her  feet,  Bob  had  come  to  him- 
self. The  purport  of  Amy's  last  speech  had  fully  penetrated 
his  understanding,  and  one  word  of  it  —  the  word  testify  — 
had  struck  him  with  an  idea. 

"By  Jove!"  he  cried,  "that  lets  out  Pollock!" 

"What?"  said  Amy. 

"This  man  Oldham  was  the  only  witness  who  could  have 
convicted  George  Pollock  of  killing  Plant." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Amy,  leaning  forward  inter- 
estedly. "Was  he  there?  How  do  you  know  about  it?'7 

A  half -hour  before  Bob  would  have  hesitated  long  before 
confiding  his  secret  to  a  fourth  party;  but  now,  for  him,  the 
world  of  relations  had  shifted. 

"I'll  tell  you  about  it,"  said  he,  without  hesitation;  "but 
this  is  serious.  You  must  never  breathe  even  a  word  of 
it  to  any  one!" 

"Certainly  not!"  cried  Amy. 

"  Oldham  wasn't  an  actual  witness  of  the  killing;  but  I  was, 
and  he  knew  it.  He  could  have  made  me  testify  by  inform- 
ing the  prosecuting  attorney." 

Bob  sketched  rapidly  his  share  in  the  tragedy:  how  he 
had  held  Pollock's  horse,  and  been  in  a  way  an  accessory 
to  the  deed.  Amy  listened  attentively  to  the  recital  of  the 
facts,  but  before  Bob  had  begun  to  draw  his  conclusions,  she 
broke  in  swiftly. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          621 

"  So  Oldham  offered  to  let  you  off,  if  you  would  keep  out 
of  this  Modoc  Land  case,"  said  she. 

Bob  nodded. 

"That  was  it." 

"But  it  would  have  put  you  in  the  penitentiary,"  she 
pointed  out. 

"Well,  the  case  wasn't  quite  decided  yet." 

She  made  her  quaint  gesture  of  the  happily  up-thrown 
hands. 

"  Just  what  you  said  about  Mr.  Welton!"  she  cried.  "  Oh, 
I'm  glad  you  told  me  this!  I  was  trying  so  hard  to  think 
you  were  doing  a  high  and  noble  duty  in  ignoring  the  conse- 
quences to  that  poor  old  man.  But  I  could  not.  Now 
I  see!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Bob  curiously,  as  she 
paused. 

"You  could  do  it  because  your  act  placed  you  in  worse 
danger,"  she  told  him. 

"Too  many  for  me,"  Bob  disclaimed.  "I  simply  wasn't 
going  to  be  bluffed  out  by  that  gang!" 

"That  was  it,"  said  Amy  wisely.  "I  know  you  better 
than  you  do  yourself.  You  don't  suppose,"  she  cried,  as 
a  new  thought  alarmed  her,  "that  Oldham  has  told  the 
prosecuting  attorney  that  your  evidence  would  be  valu- 
able." 

Bob  shook  his  head. 

"The  trial  is  next  week,"  he  pointed  out.  "In  case  the 
prosecution  had  intended  calling  me,  I  should  have  been 
summoned  long  since.  There's  dust;  they  are  coming. 
You'd  better  stay  here." 

She  agreed  readily  to  this.  After  a  moment  a  light  wagon 
drove  up.  On  the  seat  perched  Welton  and  Ware.  Bob 
climbed  in  behind. 

They  drove  rapidly  down  to  the  forks,  stopped  and  hitched 
the  team. 

"Ware's  been  telling  me  the  whole  situation,  Bobby,"  said 


622          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Welton.  "That  gang's  getting  pretty  desperate!  I've 
heard  of  this  man  Oldham  around  this  country  for  a  long 
while,  but  I  always  understood  he  was  interested  against  the 
Power  Company." 

"Bluff,"  said  Bob  briefly.  "He's  been  in  their  employ 
from  the  first,  but  I  never  thought  he'd  go  in  for  quite  this 
kind  of  strong-arm  work.  He  doesn't  look  it,  do  you 
think?" 

"I  never  laid  eyes  on  him,"  replied  Welton.  "He's  never 
been  near  the  mill,  and  I  never  happened  to  run  across  him 
anywhere  else." 

By  this  time  they  had  secured  the  team.  Ware  led  the  way 
to  the  tree  under  which  lay  the  body  of  the  land  agent. 
Welton  surveyed  the  prostrate  figure  for  some  time  in  silence. 
Then  turned  to  Bob,  a  curious  expression  on  his  face. 

"It  wasn't  an  accident  that  I  never  met  him,"  said  he. 
"He  saw  to  it.  Don't  you  remember  this  man,  Bobby?" 

"  I  saw  him  in  Los  Angeles  some  years  ago." 

"  Before  that — in  Michigan — many  years  ago." 

"His  face  has  always  seemed  familiar  to  me,"  said  Bob 
slowly.  " I  can't  place  it  —  yes  —  hold  on!" 

A  picture  defined  itself  from  the  mists  of  his  boyhood 
memories.  It  was  of  an  open  field,  with  a  fringe  of  beech 
woods  in  the  distance.  A  single  hickory  stood  near  its  centre, 
and  under  this  a  group  lounged,  smoking  pipes.  A  man, 
perched  on  a  cracker  box,  held  a  blank  book  and  pencil. 
Another  stood  by  a  board,  a  gun  in  his  hand.  The  smell  of 
black  powder  hung  in  the  atmosphere.  Little  glass  balls 
popped  into  the  air,  and  were  snuffed  out.  He  saw  Oldham 
distinctly,  looking  younger  and  browner,  but  with  the  same 
cynical  mouth,  the  same  cold  eyes,  the  same  slanted  eye- 
glasses. Even  before  his  recollections  reproduced  the 
scorer's  drawling  voice  calling  the  next  contestant,  his  mem- 
ory supplied  the  name. 

"It's  Newmark!"  he  cried  aloud. 

"Joe  Newmark,  your  father's  old  partner!    He  hasn't 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME         623 

changed  much.  He  disappeared  from  Michigan  when  you 
were  about  eight  years  old;  didn't  he!  Nobody  ever  knew 
how  or  why,  but  everybody  had  suspicions.  .  .  .  Well; 
let's  get  him  in." 

They  disposed  the  body  in  the  wagon,  and  drove  back  up 
the  road.  At  the  little  brook  they  stopped  to  let  off  Ware. 
It  was  agreed  that  all  danger  to  Bob  was  now  past,  and  that 
the  gun-man  would  do  better  to  accompany  Amy  back  to 
headquarters.  Of  course,  it  would  be  necessary  to  work  the 
whole  matter  out  at  the  coroner's  inquest,  but  in  view  of 
the  circumstances,  Ware's  safety  was  assured. 

At  the  mill  the  necessary  telephoning  was  done,  the 
officials  summoned,  and  everything  put  in  order. 

"What  I  really  started  over  to  see  you  about,"  then  said 
Bob  to  Welton,  "is  this  matter  of  the  Modoc  Company." 
He  went  on  to  explain  fully  Amy's  plan  for  checkmating 
Baker.  "You  see,  if  I  get  in  my  word  first,  Baker  is  as 
much  implicated  as  you  are,  and  it  won't  do  him  any  good 
to  turn  state's  evidence." 

"I  don't  see  as  that  helps  me,"  remarked  Welton  gloomily. 

"  Baker  might  be  willing  to  put  himself  in  any  position," 
said  Bob;  "but  I  doubt  if  he'll  care  to  take  the  risk  of  crim- 
inal punishment.  I  think  this  will  head  him  off  completely; 
but  if  it  doesn't,  every  move  he  makes  to  save  his  own  skin 
saves  yours  too." 

"It  may  do  some  good,"  agreed  Welton.     "Try  it." 

"I've  already  written  Baker.  But  I  didn't  want  you  to 
think  I  was  starting  up  the  bloodhounds  against  you  without 
some  blame  good  reason." 

"  I'd  know  that  anyway,  Bobby,"  said  Welton  kindly.  He 
stared  moodily  at  the  stovepipe.  "This  is  getting  too  thick 
for  an  old-timer,"  he  broke  out  at  last.  "I'm  just  a  plain, 
old-fashioned  lumberman,  and  all  I  know  is  to  cut  lumber, 
I  pass  this  mess  up.  I  wired  your  father  he'd  better  come 
along  out." 

"Is  he  coming?"  asked  Bob  eagerly. 


624         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"  I  just  got  a  message  over  the  'phone  from  the  telegraph 
office.  He'll  be  in  White  Oaks  as  fast  as  he  can  get  there. 
Didn't  I  tell  you?" 

"Wire  him  aboard  train  to  go  through  to  Fremont,  and 
that  we'll  meet  him  there,"  said  Bob  instantly.  "It's  get- 
ting about  time  to  beard  the  lion  in  his  den." 


XXXVII 

THE   coroner's  inquest  detained   Bob  over  until  the 
week    following.     In  it  Amy's  testimony  as    to  the 
gun-man's    appearance    and   evident   intention   was 
quite  sufficient  to  excuse  Ware's  shooting;  and  the  fact  that 
Oldham,  as  he  was  still  known,  instead  of  Saleratus  Bill, 
received  the  bullet  was  evidently  sheer  unavoidable  accident. 
Bob's  testimony  added  little  save  corroboration.     As  soon 
as  he  could  get  away,  he  took  the  road  to  Fremont. 

Orde  was  awaiting  his  son  at  the  station.  Bob  saw  the 
straight,  heavy  figure,  the  tanned  face  with  the  snow-white 
moustache,  before  the  train  had  come  to  a  stop.  Full  of 
eagerness,  he  waved  his  hat  over  the  head  of  the  outraged 
porter  barricaded  on  the  lower  steps  by  his  customary  accum- 
ulation of  suit  cases. 

"Hullo,  dad!  Hullo,  there!"  he  shouted  again  and  again, 
quite  oblivious  to  the  amusement  of  the  other  passengers  over 
this  tall  and  bronzed  young  man's  enthusiasm. 

Orde  caught  sight  of  his  son  at  last;  his  face  lit  up,  and  he, 
too,  swung  his  hat.  A  moment  later  they  had  clasped  hands. 

After  the  first  greetings,  Bob  gave  his  suit  case  in  charge 
to  the  hotel  bus-man. 

"  We'll  take  a  little  walk  up  the  street  and  talk  things  over," 
he  suggested. 

They  sauntered  slowly  up  the  hill  and  down  the  side 
streets  beneath  the  pepper  and  acacia  trees  of  Fremont's 
beautiful  thoroughfares.  So  absorbed  did  they  become  that 
they  did  not  realize  in  the  slightest  where  they  were  going, 
so  that  at  last  they  had  topped  the  ridge  and,  from  the  stretch 
of  the  Sunrise  Drive,  they  looked  over  into  the  canon. 

625 


6  26          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"So  you've  been  getting  into  trouble,  have  you?"  chaffed 
Orde,  as  they  left  the  station. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  Bob  rejoined.  "I  do  know 
that  there  are  quite  a  number  of  people  in  trouble." 

Orde  laughed. 

"Tell  me  about  this  Welton  difficulty,"  said  he.  "Frank 
Taylor  has  our  own  matters  well  in  hand.  The  opposition 
won't  gain  much  by  digging  up  that  old  charge  against  the 
integrity  of  our  land  titles.  We'll  count  that  much  wiped  off 
the  slate." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Bob  heartily.  "Well,  the 
trouble  with  Mr.  Welton  is  that  the  previous  administration 
held  him  up "  He  detailed  the  aspects  of  the  threat- 
ened bribery  case;  while  Orde  listened  without  comment. 
"So,"  he  concluded,  "it  looked  at  first  as  if  they  rather  had 
him,  if  I  testified.  It  had  me  guessing.  I  hated  the  thought 
of  getting  a  man  like  Mr.  Welton  in  trouble  of  that  sort  over  a 
case  in  which  he  was  no  way  interested." 

"What  did  you  decide?"  asked  Orde  curiously. 

"I  decided  to  testify." 


'That's  right." 


"  I  suppose  so.  I  felt  a  little  better  about  it,  because  they 
had  me  in  the  same  boat.  That  let  me  out  in  my  own  feel- 
ings, naturally." 

"How?"  asked  Orde  swiftly. 

"There  had  been  trouble  up  there  between  Plant  —  you 
remember  I  wrote  you  of  the  cattle  difficulties?" 

"With  Simeon  Wright?     I  know  all  that." 

"Well,  one  of  the  cattlemen  was  ruined  by  Plant's  meth- 
ods; his  wife  and  child  died  from  want  of  care  on  that  account. 
He  was  the  one  who  killed  Plant;  you  remember  that." 

"Yes." 

"I  happened  to  be  near  and  I  helped  him  escape." 

"  And  some  one  connected  with  the  Modoc  Company  was 
a  witness,"  conjectured  Orde.  "Who  was  it?" 

"A  man  who  went  under  the  name  of  Oldham.     A  cer- 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          627 

tain  familiarity  puzzled  me  for  a  long  time.     Only  the  other 
day  I  got  it.     He  was  Mr.  Newmark." 

"  Newmark!"  cried  Orde,  stopping  short  and  staring  fixedly 
at  his  son. 

"Yes;  the  man  who  was  your  partner  when  I  was  a  very 
small  boy.  You  remember?" 

"  Remember  1"  repeated  Orde;  then  in  tones  of  great 
energy:  "He  and  I  both  have  reason  to  remember  well 
enough!  Where  is  he  now?  I  can  put  a  stop  to  him  in 
about  two  jumps!" 

"You  won't  need  to,"  said  Bob  quietly;  "he's  dead  — 
shot  last  week." 

For  some  moments  nothing  more  was  said,  while  the  two 
men  trudged  beneath  the  hanging  peppers  near  the  entrance 
to  Sunrise  Drive. 

"  I  always  wondered  why  he  had  it  in  for  me,  and  why  he 
acted  so  queerly,"  Bob  broke  the  silence  at  last.  "  He  seemed 
.  to  have  a  special  and  personal  enmity  for  me.  I  always  felt 
it,  but  I  couldn't  make  it  out." 

"  He  had  plenty  of  reasons  for  that.  But  it's  funny  Welton 
didn't  recognize  the  whelp." 

"Mr.  Welton  never  saw  him,"  Bob  explained  —  "that  is, 
until  Newmark  was  dead.  Then  he  recognized  him  instantly. 
What  was  it  all  about?" 

Orde  indicated  the  bench  on  the  canon's  edge. 

"Let's  sit,"  said  he.  "Newmark  and  I  made  our  start 
together.  For  eight  years  we  worked  together  and  built  up 
a  very  decent  business.  Then,  all  at  once,  I  discovered 
that  he  was  plotting  systematically  to  do  me  out  of  every 
cent  we  had  made.  It  was  the  most  cold-blooded  proposition 
I  ever  ran  across." 

"Couldn't  you  prove  it  on  him?"  asked  Bob. 

"I  could  prove  it  all  right;  but  the  whole  affair  made  me 
sick.  He'd  always  been  the  closest  friend,  in  a  way,  I  had 
ever  had;  and  the  shock  of  discovering  what  he  really  was 
drove  everything  else  out  of  my  head.  I  was  young  then. 


628          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

It  seemed  to  me  that  all  I  wanted  was  to  wipe  the  whole 
affair  off  the  slate,  to  get  it  behind  me,  to  forget  it  —  so  I  let 
him  go." 

"  I  don't  believe  I'd  have  done  that.  Seems  to  me  I'd  have 
had  to  blow  off  steam,"  Bob  commented. 

Orde  smiled  reminiscently. 

"I  blew  off  steam,"*  said  he.  "It  was  rather  fantastic; 
but  I  actually  believe  it  was  one  of  the  most  satisfactory 
episodes  in  my  life.  I  went  around  to  his  place  —  he  lived 
rather  well  in  bachelor  quarters,  which  was  a  new  thing  in 
those  days  —  and  locked  the  door  and  told  him  just  why  I 
was  going  to  let  him  off.  It  tickled  him  hugely  —  for  about 
a  minute.  Then  I  finished  up  by  giving  him  about  the  very 
worst  licking  he  ever  heard  tell  of." 

"Was  that  what  you  told  him?"  cried  Bob. 

"What?" 

"Did  you  say  those  words  to  him?  —  'I'm  going  to  give 
you  the  very  worst  licking  you  ever  heard  tell  of '  ?" 

"Why,  I  believe  I  did." 

Bob  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 

"So  did  I!"  he  cried;  and  then,  after  a  moment,  more 
soberly.  "I  think,  incidentally,  it  saved  my  life." 

"Now  what  are  you  driving  at?"  asked  Orde. 

"Listen,  this  is  funny:  Newmark  had  me  kidnapped  by 
one  of  his  men,  and  lugged  off  to  a  little  valley  in  the  mount- 
ains. The  idea  was  to  keep  me  there  until  after  the  trial, 
so  my  testimony  would  not  appear.  You  see,  none  of  our 
side  knew  I  had  that  testimony.  I  hadn't  told  anybody, 
because  I  had  been  undecided  as  to  what  I  was  going  to  do." 

Orde  whistled. 

"  I  got  away,  and  had  quite  a  time  getting  home.  I'll  tell 
you  all  the  details  some  other  time.  On  the  road  I  met 
Newmark.  I  was  pretty  mad,  so  I  lit  into  him  stiff-legged. 
After  a  few  words  he  got  scared  and  pulled  a  gun  on  me.  I 
was  just  mad  enough  to  keep  coming,  and  I  swear  I  believe 

*See  "The  Riverman." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          629 

he  was  just  on  the  point  of  shooting,  when  I  said  those  very 
same  words:  'I'm  going  to  give  you  the  very  worst  licking 
you  ever  heard  tell  of.'  He  turned  white  as  a  sheet  and 
dropped  his  gun.  I  thought  he  was  a  coward;  but  I  guess 
it  was  conscience  and  luck.  Now,  wouldn't  that  come  and 
get  you?" 

"Did  you?"  asked  Orde. 

"Did  I  what?" 

"Give  him  that  licking?" 

"I  sure  did  start  out  to;  but  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to 
more  than  shake  him  up  a  little." 

Orde  rose,  stretching  his  legs. 

"What  are  your  plans  now?" 

"To  see  Baker.  I'm  going  to  tell  him  that  on  the  first 
indications  of  his  making  trouble  I'm  going  to  enter  com- 
plaint for  bribery  against  both  him  and  Mr.  Welton,  You 
see,  I  was  there  too.  Think  it'll  work?" 

"The  best  way  is  to  go  and  see." 

"Come  on,"  said  Bob. 


XXXVIII 

THE  two  men  found  Baker  seated  behind  his  flat- top 
desk.  He  grinned  cheerfully  at  them;  and,  to  Bob's 
surprise,  greeted  him  with  great  joviality. 

"All  hail,  great  Chief!"  he  cried.  "I've  had  my  scalp 
nicely  smoke-tanned  for  you,  so  you  won't  have  to  bother 
taking  it."  He  bowed  to  Orde.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  sir/' 
said  he.  "  Know  you  by  your  picture.  Please  be  seated." 

Bob  brushed  the  levity  aside. 

"I've  come,"  said  he,  "to  get  an  explanation  from  you  as 
to  why,  in  the  first  place,  you  had  me  kidnapped;  and  why, 
in  the  second  place,  you  tried  to  get  me  murdered." 

Baker's  mocking  face  became  instantly  grave;  and,  lean- 
ing forward,  he  hit  the  desk  a  thump  with  his  right  fist. 

"Orde,"  said  he,  "I  want  you  to  believe  me  in  this:  I 
never  was  more  sorry  for  anything  in  my  life!  I  wouldn't 
have  had  that  happen  for  anything  in  the  world!  If  I'd  had 
the  remotest  idea  that  Oldham  contemplated  something  of 
that  sort,  I  should  have  laid  very  positive  orders  on  him.  He 
said  he  had  something  on  you  that  would  keep  your  mouth 
shut,  but  I  never  dreamed  he  meant  gun  play." 

"I  don't  suppose  you  dreamed  he  meant  kidnapping 
either,"  observed  Bob. 

Baker  threw  himself  back  with  a  chuckle. 

"  Being  kidnapped  is  fine  for  the  health,"  said  he.  "  Babies 
thrive  on  it.  No,"  he  continued,  again  leaning  forward 
gravely,  "Oldham  got  away  from  his  instructions  com- 
pletely. Shooting  or  that  kind  of  violence  was  absurd  in 
such  a  case.  You  mustn't  lay  that  to  me,  but  to  his  personal 
grudge." 

630 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          631 

"What  do  you  know  of  a  personal  grudge?"  Bob  flashed 
back. 

"  Ab-so-lute-ly  nothing;  but  I  suspected.  It's  part  of 
my  job  to  be  a  nifty  young  suspector  —  and  to  use  what  I 
guess  at.  He  just  got  away  from  me.  As  for  the  rest  of  it, 
that's  part  of  the  game.  This  is  no  croquet  match;  you 
must  expect  to  get  your  head  bumped  if  you  play  it.  I 
play  the  game." 

"I  play  the  game,  too,"  returned  Bob,  "and  I  came  here 
to  tell  you  so.  I'll  take  care  of  myself,  but  I  want  to  say 
that  the  moment  you  offer  any  move  against  Welton,  I  shall 
bring  in  my  testimony  against  both  of  you  on  this  bribery 
matter." 

"Sapient  youth!"  said  Baker,  amused;  "did  that  aspect  of 
it  just  get  to  you?  But  you  misinterpreted  the  spirit  of  my 
greeting  when  you  came  in  the  room.  In  words  of  one  syl- 
lable, you've  got  us  licked.  We  lie  down  and  roll  over.  We 
stick  all  four  paws  in  the  air.  We  bat  our  august  forehead 
against  the  floor.  Is  that  clear?" 

"Then  you  drop  this  prosecution  against  Welton?" 

"Nary  prosecution,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"  But  the  Modoc  Land  case ' 

"Take  back  your  lands,"  chaffed  Baker  dramatically. 
"Kind  of  bum  lands,  anyway.  No  use  skirmishing  after 
the  battle  is  over.  Your  father  would  tell  you  that." 

"Then  you  don't  fight  the  suit?" 

"That,"  said  Baker,  "is  still  a  point  for  compromise. 
You've  got  us,  I'm  willing  to  admit  that.  Also  that  you  are 
a  bright  young  man,  and  that  1  underestimated  you.  You've 
lifted  my  property,  legally  acquired,  and  you've  done  it  by 
outplaying  my  bluff.  I  still  maintain  the  points  of  the  law 
are  with  me  —  we  won't  get  into  that,"  he  checked  himself. 
"But  criminal  prosecution  is  a  different  matter.  I  don't 
intend  to  stand  for  that  a  minute.  Your  gang  don't  slow- 
step  me  to  any  bastiles  now  listed  in  the  prison  records. 
Nothing  doing  that  way.  I'll  fight  her  to  a  fare-ye-well  on 


632         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

that."  His  round  face  seemed  to  become  square-set  and 
grim  for  an  instant,  but  immediately  reassumed  its  cus- 
tomary rather  careless  good-nature.  "No,  we'll  just  call 
the  whole  business  off." 

"That  is  not  for  me  to  decide,"  said  Bob. 

"No;  but  you've  got  a  lot  to  say  about  it  —  and  I'll  see  to 
the  little  details;  don't  fret.  By  the  way,"  mentioned  Baker, 
"just  as  a  matter  of  ordinary  curiosity,  did  Oldham  have  any- 
thing on  you,  or  was  he  just  a  strong-arm  artist?"  He 
threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  aloud  at  Bob's  face.  At 
the  thought  of  Pollock  the  young  man  could  not  prevent 
a  momentary  expression  of  relief  from  crossing  his  counte- 
nance. "  There's  a  tail-holt  on  all  of  us,"  Baker  observed. 

He  flipped  open  a  desk  drawer  and  produced  a  box  of 
expensive-looking  cigars  which  he  offered  to  his  visitors. 
Orde  lit  one;  but  Bob,  eyeing  the  power-man  coldly,  refused. 
Baker  laughed. 

"You'll  get  over  it,"  he  observed  —  "youth,  I  mean. 
Don't  mix  your  business  and  your  personal  affairs.  That 
came  right  out  of  the  copy  book,  page  one,  but  it's  true. 
I'm  the  one  that  ought  to  feel  sore,  seems  to  me."  He  lit  his 
own  cigar,  and  puffed  at  it,  swinging  his  bulky  form  to  the 
edge  of  the  desk.  "Look  here,"  said  he,  shaking  the  butt 
at  the  younger  man.  "You're  making  a  great  mistake. 
The  future  of  this  country  is  with  water,  and  don't  you  for- 
get it.  Fuel  is  scarce;  water  power  is  the  coming  force. 
The  country  can  produce  like  a  garden  under  irrigation;  and 
it's  only  been  scratched  yet,  and  that  just  about  the  big 
cities.  We  are  getting  control;  and  the  future  of  the  state 
is  with  us.  You're  wasting  yourself  in  all  this  toy  work. 
You've  got  too  much  ability  to  squander  it  in  that  sort  of  thing. 
Oldham  made  you  an  offer  from  us,  didn't  he?" 

"He  tried  to  bribe  me,  if  that's  what  you  mean,"  said  Bob. 

"Well,  have  it  your  way;  but  you'll  admit  there's  hardly 
much  use  of  bribing  you  now.  I  repeat  the  offer.  Come  in 
with  us  on  those  terms." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          633 

"Why?"  demanded  Bob. 

"Well,"  said  Baker  quaintly,  "because  you  seem  to  have 
licked  me  fair  and  square;  and  I  never  want  a  man  who 
can  lick  me  to  remain  where  he  is  likely  to  do  so." 

At  this  point  Orde,  who  had  up  to  now  remained  quietly 
a  spectator,  spoke  up. 

"Bob,"  said  he,  "is  already  fairly  intimately  connected 
with  certain  interests,  which,  while  not  so  large  as  water 
power,  are  enough  to  keep  him  busy." 

Baker  turned  to  him  joyously. 

"List'  to  the  voice  of  reason!"  he  cried.  "I'm  sorry  he 
won't  come  with  us;  but  the  next  best  thing  is  to  put  him 
where  he  won't  fight  us.  I  didn't  know  he  was  going  back 
to  your  timber " 

Bob  opened  his  mouth  to  reply,  but  closed  it  again  at  a 
gesture  from  his  father. 

Baker  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"Well,"  he  remarked  cheerfully,  "come  over  to  the  Club 
with  me  to  lunch,  anyway." 

Bob  stared  at  him  incredulously.  Here  was  the  man  who 
had  employed  against  him  every  expedient  from  blackmail 
to  physical  violence;  who  had  but  that  instant  been  worsted 
in  a  bald  attempt  at  larceny,  nevertheless,  cheerfully  invit- 
ing him  out  to  lunch  as  though  nothing  had  happened! 
Furthermore,  his  father,  against  whose  ambitions  one  of  the 
deadliest  blows  had  been  aimed,  was  quietly  reaching  for 
his  hat.  Baker  looked  up  and  caught  Bob's  expression. 

"Come,  come!"  said  he;  "forget  it!  You  and  I  speak  the 
language  of  the  same  tribe,  and  you  can't  get  away  from  it. 
I'm  playing  my  game,  you're  playing  yours.  Of  course, 
we  want  to  win.  But  what's  the  use  of  cutting  out  lots  of 
bully  good  people  on  that  account?" 

"You  don't  stick  to  the  rules,"  insisted  Bob  stoutly. 

"I  think  I  do,"  said  Baker.  "Who's  to  decide?  You 
believe  one  way,  I  believe  another.  I  know  what  you  think 
of  my  methods  in  business;  and  I'd  hate  to  say  what  I  think 


634          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

of  you  as  the  blue  ribbon  damn  fool  in  that  respect.  But  I 
like  you,  and  I'm  willing  to  admit  you've  got  stuff  in  you; 
and  I  know  damn  well  you  and  your  father  and  I  can  have 
a  fine  young  lunch  talking  duck-shooting  and  football.  And 
with  all  my  faults  you  love  me  still,  and  you  know  you  do." 
He  smiled  winningly,  and  hooked  his  arm  through  Bob's  on 
one  side  and  his  father's  on  the  other.  "Come  on,  you 
old  deacon;  play  the  game!"  he  cried. 
Bob  laughed,  and  gave  in. 


XXXIX 

BOB  took  his  father  with  him  back  to  headquarters. 
They  rode  in  near  the  close  of  day;  and,  as  usual, 
from  the  stovepipe  of  the  roofless  kitchen  a  brave 
pillar  of  white  smoke  rose  high  in  the  shadows  of  the  firs. 
Amy  came  forth  at  Bob's  shout,  starched  and  fresh,  her 
cheeks  glowing  with  their  steady  colour,  her  intelligent  eyes 
alight  with  interest  under  the  straight,  serene  brows.  At 
sight  of  Orde,  the  vivacity  of  her  manner  quieted  somewhat, 
but  Bob  could  see  that  she  was  excited  about  something. 
He  presented  his  father,  who  dismounted  and  greeted  her 
with  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand. 

"We've  heard  of  you,  Miss  Thorne,"  said  he  simply,  but 
it  was  evident  he  was  pleased  with  the  frankness  of  her  man- 
ner, the  clear  steadiness  of  her  eye,  the  fresh  daintiness  of  her 
appearance,  and  the  respect  of  her  greeting.  On  the  other 
hand,  she  looked  back  with  equal  pleasure  on  the  tanned, 
sturdy  old  man  with  the  white  hair  and  moustache,  the  clear 
eyes,  and  the  innumerable  lines  of  quaint  good-humour  about 
them.  After  they  had  thus  covertly  surveyed  each  other 
for  a  moment,  the  aforesaid  lines  about  Orde's  eyes  deep- 
ened, his  eyes  twinkled  with  mischief,  and  he  thrust  forth 
his  hand  for  the  second  time.  "Shake  again!"  he  offered. 
Amy  gurgled  forth  a  little  chuckle  of  good  feeling  and  under- 
standing, and  laid  her  fingers  in  his  huge  palm. 

After  this  they  turned  and  walked  slowly  to  the  hitch  rails 
where  the  men  tied  their  horses. 

"Where's  the  Supervisor?"  Bob  asked  of  Amy. 

"In  the  office,"  she  replied;  and  then  burst  out  excitedly: 
"I've  the  greatest  news!" 


636          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

"  So  have  I,"  returned  Bob,  promptly.     "  Best  kind." 

"Oh,  what  is  it?"  she  cried,  forgetting  all  about  her  own. 
"IsitMr.Welton?" 

"It'll  take  some  time  to  tell  mine,"  said  Bob,  "and  we 
must  hunt  up  Mr.  Thorne.  Yours  first." 

"Pollock  is  free!" 

"Pollock  free!"  echoed  Bob.  "How  is  that?  I  thought 
his  trial  was  not  until  next  week!" 

"  The  prosecuting  attorney  quashed  the  indictment  — 
or  whatever  it  is  they  do.  Anyhow,  he  let  George  go  for 
lack  of  evidence  to  convict." 

"  I  guess  he  was  relying  on  evidence  promised  by  Oldham, 
which  he  never  got,"  Bob  surmised. 

"And  never  will,"  Orde  cautioned  them.  "You  two 
young  people  must  be  careful  never  to  know  anything  of  this." 

Bob  opened  his  mouth  to  say  something;  was  suddenly 
struck  by  a  thought,  and  closed  it  again. 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  he  asked  at  last.  "Why  do  you 
think  Miss  Thorne  must  know  of  this?" 

But  Orde  only  smiled  amusedly  beneath  his  white  mous- 
tache. 

They  found  Ashley  Thorne,  and  acquainted  him  with 
the  whole  situation.  He  listened  thoughtfully. 

"The  matter  is  over  our  heads,  of  course;  but  we  must 
do  our  best.  Of  course,  by  all  rights  the  man  ought  to  be 
indicted;  but  there  can  be  no  question  that  there  is  a  common 
sense  that  takes  the  substance  of  victory  and  lets  the  shadow 
go." 

Orde  stayed  to  supper  and  over  night.  In  the  course  of 
the  evening  California  John  drifted  in,  and  Ware,  and  Jack 
Pollock,  and  such  other  of  the  rangers  as  happened  to  be  in 
from  the  Forest.  Orde  was  at  his  best;  and  ended,  to  Bob's 
vast  pride,  in  getting  himself  well  liked  by  these  conservative 
and  quietly  critical  men  of  the  mountains. 

The  next  morning  Bob  and  his  father  saddled  their  horses 
and  started  early  for  the  mill,  Bob  having  been  granted  a 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          637 

short  leave  of  absence.  For  some  distance  they  rode  in 
silence. 

"Father,"  said  Bob,  "why  did  you  stop  me  from  contra- 
dicting Baker  the  other  day  when  he  jumped  to  the  con- 
clusion that  I  was  going  to  quit  the  Service?" 

"I  think  you  are." 

"But " 

"  Only  if  you  want  to,  Bob.  I  don't  want  to  force  you  in 
any  way;  but  both  Welton  and  I  are  getting  old,  and  we  need 
younger  blood.  We'd  rather  have  you."  Bob  shook  his  head. 
"  I  know  what  you  mean,  and  I  realize  how  you  feel  about 
the  whole  matter.  Perhaps  you  are  right.  I  have  nothing 
to  say  against  conservation  and  forestry  methods  theo- 
retically. They  are  absolutely  correct.  I  agree  that  the 
forests  should  be  cut  for  future  growths,  and  left  so  that  fire 
cannot  get  through  them;  but  it  is  a  grave  question  in  my 
mind  whether,  as  yet,  it  can  be  done." 

"But  it  is  being  done!"  cried  Bob.  "There  is  no  diffi- 
culty in  doing  it." 

"That's  for  you  to  prove,  if  you  want  to,"  said  Orde. 
"  If  you  care  to  resign  from  the  Service,  we  will  for  two  years 
give  you  full  swing  with  our  timber,  to  cut  and  log  according 
to  your  ideas  —  or  rather  the  ideas  of  those  over  you.  In 
that  time  you  can  prove  your  point,  or  fail.  Personally," 
he  repeated,  "I  have  grave  doubts  as  to  whether  it  can  be 
done  at  present;  it  will  be  in  the  future  of  course." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  asked  Bob.  "It  is  being 
done  every  day!  There's  nothing  complicated  about  it. 
It's  just  a  question  of  cutting  and  piling  the  tops,  and  - 

"I  know  the  methods  advocated,"  broke  in  Orde.  "But 
it  is  not  being  done  except  on  Government  holdings  where 
conditions  as  to  taxation,  situation  and  a  hundred  othei 
things  are  not  like  those  of  private  holdings;  or  on  private 
holdings  on  an  experimental  scale,  or  in  conjunction  with 
older  methods.  The  case  has  not  been  proved  on  a  large 
private  tract.  Now  is  your  chance  so  to  prove  it." 


638  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

Bob's  face  was  grave. 

"That  means  a  pretty  complete  about-face  for  me,  sir," 
said  he.  "  I  fought  this  all  out  with  myself  some  years  back. 
I  feel  that  I  have  fitted  myself  into  the  one  thing  that  is  worth 
while  for  me." 

"I  know,"  said  Orde.  "Don't  hurry.  Think  it  over. 
Take  advice.  I  have  a  notion  you'll  find  this  —  if  its 
handled  right,  and  works  out  right  —  will  come  to  much  the 
same  thing." 

He  rode  along  in  silence  for  some  moments. 

"I  want  to  be  fair,"  he  resumed  at  last,  "and  do  not  desire 
to  get  you  in  this  on  mistaken  premises.  This  will  not  be  a 
case  of  experiment,  of  plaything,  but  of  business.  However 
desirable  a  commercial  theory  may  be,  if  it's  commercial, 
it  must  pay!  It's  not  enough  if  you  don't  lose  money;  or 
even  if  you  succeed  in  coming  out  a  little  ahead.  You  must 
make  it  pay  on  a  commercial  basis,  or  else  it's  as  worthless 
in  the  business  world  as  so  much  moonshine.  That  is  not 
sordid;  it  is  simply  common  sense.  We  all  agree  that  it 
would  be  better  to  cut  our  forests  for  the  future;  but  can  it 
be  done  under  present  conditions?" 

u  There  is  no  question  of  that,"  said  Bob  confidently. 

"There  is  quite  a  question  of  it  among  some  of  us  old 
fogies,  Bobby,"  stated  Orde  good-humouredly.  "I  suppose 
we're  stupid  and  behind  the  times;  but  we've  been  brought 
up  in  a  hard  school.  We  are  beyond  the  age  when  we  origi- 
nate much,  perhaps;  but  we're  willing  to  be  shown." 

He  held  up  his  hand,  checking  over  his  fingers  as  he  talked. 

"Here's  the  whole  proposition,"  said  he.  "You  can 
consider  it.  Welton  and  I  will  turn  over  the  whole  works  to 
you,  lock,  stock  and  barrel,  for  two  years.  You  know  the 
practical  side  of  the  business  as  well  as  you  ever  will,  and 
you've  got  a  good  head  on  you.  At  the  end  of  that  time, 
turn  in  your  balance  sheet.  We'll  see  how  you  come  out, 
and  how  much  it  costs  a  thousand  feet  to  do  these  things  out- 
side the  schoolroom." 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          639 

"  If  I  took  it  up,  I  couldn't  make  it  pay  quite  as  well  as  by 
present  methods,"  Bob  warned. 

"Of  course  not.  Any  reasonable  man  would  expect  to 
spend  something  by  way  of  insurance  for  the  future.  But 
the  point  is,  the  operations  must  pay.  Think  it  over!" 

They  emerged  into  the  mill  clearing.  Welton  rolled  out 
to  greet  them,  his  honest  red  face  aglow  with  pleasure  over 
greeting  again  his  old  friend.  They  pounded  each  other  on 
the  back,  and  uttered  much  facetious  and  affectionate  abuse. 
Bob  left  them  cursing  each  other  heartily,  broad  gring 
illuminating  their  weatherbeaten  faces. 


XL 

BOB'S  obvious  course  was  to  talk  the  whole  matter  over 
with  his  superior  officer,  and  that  is  exactly  what  he 
intended  to  do.  Instead,  he  hunted  up  Amy.  He 
justified  this  course  by  the  rather  sophistical  reflection  that 
in  her  he  would  encounter  the  most  positive  force  to  the  con- 
trary of  the  proposition  he  had  just  received.  Amy  stood 
first,  last  and  all  the  time  for  the  Service;  her  heart  was 
wholly  in  its  cause.  In  her  opinion  he  would  gain  the  advan- 
tage of  a  direct  antithesis  to  the  ideas  propounded  by  his 
father.  This  appeared  to  Bob  an  eminently  just  arrange- 
ment, but  failed  to  account  for  a  certain  rather  breathless 
excitement  as  he  caught  sight  of  Amy's  sleek  head  bending 
over  a  pan  of  peas. 

"Amy,"  said  he,  dropping  down  at  her  feet,  "I  want  your 
advice." 

She  let  fall  her  hands  and  looked  at  him  with  the  refresh- 
ing directness  peculiarly  her  own. 

"Father  wants  me  to  take  charge  of  the  Wolverine  Com- 
pany's operations,"  he  began. 

"Well?"  she  urged  him  after  a  pause. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"  I  thought  you  had  worked  that  all  out  for  yourself  some 
time  ago." 

"I  had.  But  father  and  Mr.  Welton  are  getting  a  little 
too  old  to  handle  such  a  proposition,  and  they  are  looking 
to  me "  he  paused. 

"That  situation  is  no  different  than  it  has  been,"  she  sug- 
gested. "What  else?" 

Bob  laughed. 

640 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME          041 

"You  see  through  me  very  easily,  don't  you?  Well,  the 
situation  is  changed.  I'm  being  bribed." 

"Bribed!"  Amy  cried,  throwing  her  head  back. 

"Extra  inducements  offered.  They  make  it  hard  for  me 
to  refuse,  without  seeming  positively  brutal.  They  offer  me 
complete  charge  —  to  do  as  I  want.  I  can  run  the  works 
absolutely  according  to  my  own  ideas.  Don't  you  see  how 
I  am  going  to  hurt  them  when  I  refuse  under  such  circum- 
stances?" 

"Refuse!"  cried  Amy.     "Refuse!    What  do  you  mean!" 

"Do  you  think  I  ought  to  leave  the  Service?"  stammered 
Bob  blankly. 

"Why,  it's  the  best  chance  the  Service  has  ever  had!" 
said  Amy,  the  words  fairly  tumbling  over  one  another. 
"You  must  never  dream  of  refusing.  It's  your  chance  — 
it's  our  chance.  It's  the  one  thing  we've  lacked,  the  oppor- 
tunity of  showing  lumbermen  everywhere  that  the  thing  can 
be  made  to  pay.  It's  the  one  thing  we've  lacked.  Oh, 
what  a  chance!" 

"But  —  but,"  objected  Bob  —  "it  means  giving  up  the 
Service  —  after  these  years  —  and  all  the  wide  interests  — 
ind  the  work " 

"You  must  take  it,"  she  swept  him  away,  "and  you  mmt 
do  it  with  all  your  power  and  all  the  ability  that  is  in  you. 
You  must  devote  yourself  to  one  idea  —  make  money,  make 
it  pay!" 

"This  from  you,"  said  Bob  sadly. 

" Oh,  I  am  so  glad!"  cried  Amy.  "Your  father  is  a  dear! 
it's  the  one  fear  that  has  haunted  me  —  lest  some  visionary 
incompetent  should  attempt  it,  and  should  fail  dismally,  and 
all  the  great  world  of  business  should  visit  our  methods  with 
the  scorn  due  only  his  incompetence.  It  was  our  great  dan- 
ger! And  now  it  is  no  longer  a  danger!  You  can  do  it, 
Bob;  you  have  the  knowledge  and  the  ability  and  the  energy 
—  and  you  must  have  the  enthusiasm.  Can't  you  see  it? 
You  mustl" 


642         THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

She  leaned  over,  her  eyes  shining  with  the  excitement  of 
her  thought,  to  shake  him  by  both  shoulders.  The  pan  of 
peas  promptly  deluged  him.  They  both  laughed. 

"I'd  never  looked  at  it  that  way,"  Bob  confessed 

"It's  the  only  way  to  look  at  it." 

"Why!"  cried  Bob,  in  the  sudden  illumination  of  a  new 
idea.  "  The  more  money  I  make,  the  more  good  I'll  do  — 
that's  a  brand  new  idea  for  you!" 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  slowly,  and  stood  for  a  moment  lost  in 
thought.  Then  he  looked  down  at  her,  a  fresh  admiration 
shining  in  his  eyes. 

"Yours  is  the  inspiration  and  the  insight  —  as  always," 
he  said  humbly.  "It  has  always  been  so.  I  have  seemed 
to  myself  to  have  blundered  and  stumbled,  groping  for  a  way; 
and  you  have  flown,  swift  as  a  shining  arrow,  straight  to  the 
mark." 

"No,  no,  no,  no!"  she  disclaimed,  coming  close  to  him  in 
the  vigour  of  her  denial.  "You  are  unfair." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  and  somehow  in  the  earnest- 
ness of  her  disclaimer,  the  feminine  soul  of  her  rose  to  her 
eyes,  so  that  again  Bob  saw  the  tender,  appealing  helpless- 
ness, and  once  more  there  arose  to  full  tide  in  his  breast  the 
answering  tenderness  that  would  care  for  her  and  guard  her 
from  the  rough  jostling  of  the  world.  The  warmth  of  her 
young  body  tingled  in  recollection  along  his  arm,  and  then, 
strangely  enough,  without  any  other  direct  cause  wnatever, 
the  tide  rose  higher  to  flood  his  soul.  He  drew  her  to  him, 
crushing  her  to  his  breast.  For  an  instant  she  yielded  to  him 
utterly;  then  drew  away  in  a  panic. 

"My  dear,  my  dear  I"  she  half  whispered;  "not  here!" 


XLI 

OB  rode  home  through  the  forest,  singing  at  the  top 
of  his  voice.  When  he  met  his  father,  near  the 
lower  meadow,  he  greeted  the  older  man  boisterously. 

"That,"  said  Orde  to  him  shrewdly,  "sounds  to  me 
mighty  like  relief.  Have  you  decided  for  or  against  ?  " 

"For,"  said  Bob.  "It's  a  fine  chance  for  me  to  do  just 
what  I've  always  wanted  to  do  —  to  work  hard  at  what 
interests  me  and  satisfies  me." 

"Go  to  it,  then,"  said  Orde.  "By  the  way,  Bobby,  how 
old  are  you  now?" 

"Twenty-nine." 

"  Well,  you're  a  year  younger  than  I  was  when  I  started  in 
with  Newmark.  You're  ahead  of  me  there.  But  in  other 
respects,  my  son,  your  father  had  a  heap  more  sense;  he  got 
married,  and  he  didn't  waste  any  time  on  it.  How  long  have 
you  been  living  around  in  range  of  that  Thorne  girl,  any- 
way? Somebody  ought  to  build  a  fire  under  you." 

Bob  hesitated  a  moment;  but  he  preferred  that  his  good 
news  should  come  to  his  father  when  Amy  could  be  there,  too. 

"I'm  glad  you  like  her,  father,"  said  he  quietly. 

Orde  looked  at  his  son,  and  his  voice  fell  from  its  chaffing 
tone.  "Good  luck,  boy,"  said  he,  and  leaned  from  his 
saddle  to  touch  the  young  man  on  the  shoulder. 

They  emerged  into  the  clearing  about  the  mill.  Bob 
looked  on  the  familiar  scene  with  the  new  eyes  of  a  great 
spiritual  uplift.  The  yellow  sawdust  and  the  sawn  lumber; 
the  dark  forest  beyond;  the  bulk  of  the  mill  with  its  tall  pines; 
the  dazzling  plume  of  steam  against  the  very  blue  sky,  all 
these  appealed  to  him  again  with  many  voices,  as  they  had 

643 


644          THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

years  before  in  far-off  Michigan.  Once  more  he  was 
back  where  his  blood  called  him;  but  under  conditions  which 
his  training  and  the  spirit  of  the  new  times  could  approve. 
His  heart  exulted  at  the  challenge  to  his  young  manhood. 

As  he  rode  by  the  store  he  caught  sight  within  its  depths 
of  Merker  methodically  waiting  on  a  stolid  squaw. 

"No  more  economic  waste,  Merker!"  he  could  not  for- 
bear shouting;  and  then  rocked  in  his  saddle  with  laughter 
over  the  man's  look  of  slow  surprise.  "  It's  his  catchword," 
he  explained  to  Orde.  "He's  a  slow,  queer  old  duck,  but  a 
mighty  good  sort  for  the  place.  There's  Post,  in  from  the 
woods.  He's  woods  foreman.  I  expect  I'll  have  lively  times 
with  Post  at  first,  getting  him  broken  into  new  ways.  But 
he's  a  good  sort,  too." 

"Everybody's  a  good  sort  to-day,  aren't  they,  son?" 
smiled  Orde. 

Welton  met  them,  and  expressed  his  satisfaction  over  the 
way  everything  had  turned  out. 

"I'm  going  duck  shooting  for  fair,"  said  he,  "and  I'm 
going  fishing  at  Catalina.  Out  here,"  he  explained  to  Orde, 
"you  sit  in  nice  warm  sun  and  let  the  ducks  insult  you  into 
shooting  at  'em!  No  freeze-your-fingers-and-break-the-ice 
early  mornings!  I'm  willing  to  let  the  kid  go  it!  He  can't 
bust  me  in  two  years,  anyway." 

Later,  when  the  two  were  alone  together,  he  clapped  Bob 
on  the  back  and  wished  him  success. 

"I'm  too  old  at  the  game  to  believe  much  in  new  methods 
to  what  I've  been  brought  up  to,  Bob,"  said  he;  "but  I  believe 
in  you.  If  anybody  can  do  it,  you  can;  and  I'd  be  tickled 
to  see  you  win  out.  Things  change;  and  a  man  is  foolish  to 
act  as  though  they  didn't.  He's  just  got  to  keep  playing  along 
according  to  the  rules  of  the  game.  And  they  keep  changing, 
too.  It's  good  to  have  lived  while  they're  making  a  country. 
I've  done  it.  You're  going  to." 

THE  END 


A  FEW  OF 

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A  ranch  and  cowboy  novel.  Happy  Hawkins  tells  his  own  story 
with  such  a  fine  capacity  for  knowing  how  to  do  it  and  with  so  much 
humor  that  the  reader's  interest  is  held  in  surprise,  then  admiration 
and  at  last  in  positive  affection. 

COMRADES.    By  Thomas  Dixon,  Jr.    Illustrated  by  C.  D. 

wimahs. 


The  locale  of  this  story  is  in  California,  where  a  few  socialists 
establish  a  little  community. 

The  author  leads  the  little  band  alone  the  path  of  disillusion- 
ment, and  gives  some  brilliant  flashes  of  light  on  one  side  of  an 
important  question. 
TONO-BUNGAY.    By  Herbert  George  Wells. 

The  hero  of  this  novel  is  a  young  man  who,  through  hard  work, 
earns  a  scholarship  and  goes  to  London. 

Written  with  a  frankness  verging  on  Rousseau's,  Mr.  Wells  still 
uses  rare  discrimination  and  the  border  line  of  propriety  is  never 
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A  HUSBAND  BY  PROXY.    By  Jack  Steele. 

A  young  criminologist,  but  recently  arrived  in  New  York  c!t^ 
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Mr.  Horton  s  powerful  romance  stands  in  a  new  field  and  brings 
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THE    MASTER    OF    APPLEBY.     By    Francis    Lynde. 
Illustrated  by  T.  de  Thulstrup. 

"A  novel  tale  concerning  itself  in  part  with  the  great  struggle  in 
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A  strong,  masculine  and  persuasive  story. 
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MADAME  X.    By  Alexandra  Bisson  and  J.  W.  McCon- 
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her  son  is  the  great  final  influence  in  her  career,    A  tremen- 
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THE  GARDEN  OF  ALLAH.    By  Robert  Hichens. 

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THE  PRINCE  OF  INDIA.    By  Lew.  Wallace. 

A  glowing  romance  of  the  Byzantine  Empire,  presenting 
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TESS  OF    THE    STORM    COUNTRY.     By  Grace 
Miller  White.     Illust.  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 
A  girl  from  the  dregs  of  society,  loves  a  young  Cornell  Uni- 
versity student,  and  it  works  startling  changes  in  her  life  and 
ehe  lives  of  those  about  her.    The  dramatic  version  is  one  of 
the  sensations  of  the  season. 

YOUNG    WALLINGFORD.      By  George    Randolph 

Chester.     Illust.  by  F.  R.  Gruger  and  Henry  Raleigh, 

A  series  of  clever  swindles  conducted  by  a  cheerful  young 

man,  each  of  which  is  just  on  the  safe  side  of  a  State's  prison 

offence.    As  "Get-Rich-Quick  Wallingford,"  it  is  probably 

the  most  amusing  expose  of  money  manipulation  ever  seen 

on  the  stage. 

THE  INTRUSION   OF  JIMMY.    By  P.  G.  Wode- 

house.     Illustrations  by  Will  Grefe. 
Social  and  club  life  in  London  and  New  York,  an  amateur 
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STORIES  OF  PURE  DELIGHT 

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THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW.  Large  Octavo.  Decorative 
text  pages,  printed  in  two  colors.  Illustrations  by  Alice 
Barber  Stephens. 

One  of  the  prettiest  romances  that  has  ever  come  from  this 
author's  pen  is  made  to  bloom  on  Christmas  Eve  in  the  sweet 
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PENELOPE'S  PROGRESS.  Attractive  cover  design  in 
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Scotland  is  the  background  for  the  merry  doings  of  three  very 
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PENELOPE'S  IRISH  EXPERIENCES.  Uniform  in  style 
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The  trio  of  clever  girls  who  rambled  over  Scotland  cross  the  bor- 
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REBECCA  OF  SUNNYBROOK  FARM. 

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nomenal dramatic  record, 

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through  various  stages  to  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

ROSE   O'  THE  RIVER.     With  illustrations  by  George 

Wright. 

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young  farmer,  The  girl's  fancy  for  a  city  man  interrupts  their  love 
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REALISTIC,  ENGAGING  PICTURES  OF  LIFE, 


THE  GARDEN  OF  FATE.  By  Roy  Norton.  Illustrated 

by  Joseph  Clement  Coll. 

The  colorful  romance  of  an  American  girl  in  Morocco,  and 
of  a  beautiful  garden,  whose  beauty  and  traditions  of  strange 
subtle  happenings  were  closed  to  the  world  by  a  Sultan's  seal. 

THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP.    By  Henry  Russell  Miller. 

Full  page  vignette  illustrations  by  M.  Leone  Bracker. 

The  story  of  a  tenement  waii  who  rose  by  his  own  ingenuity 

to  the  office  of  mayor  of  his  native  citv.    His  experiences 

while  "climbing,"  make  a  most  interesting  example  of  the 

possibilities  of  human  nature  to  rise  above  circumstances. 

THE  KEY  TO  YESTERDAY.      By  Charles  Neville 

Buck.    Illustrated  by  R.  Schabelitz. 

Robert  Saxon,  a  prominent  artist,  has  an  accident,  while  in 

Paris,  which  obliterates  his  memory,  and  the  only  clue  he  has 

to  his  former  life  is  a  rusty  key.    What  door  in  Paris  will  it 

unlock?    He  must  know  that  before  he  woos  the  girl  he  loves. 

THE  DANGER  TRAIL.    By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
The  danger  trail  is  over  the  snow-smothered  North.    A 
young  Chicago  engineer{  who  is  building  a  road  through  the 
Hudson  Bay  region,  is  involved  in  mystery,  and  is  led  into 
ambush  by  a  young  woman. 

THE  GAY  LORD  WARING.    By  Houghton  Townley. 

Illustrated  by  Will  Grefe. 

A  story  of  the  smart  hunting  set  in  England.  A  gay  young 
lord  wins  in  love  against  his  selfish  and  cowardly  brother  and, 
apparently  against  fate  itself. 

BY  INHERITANCE.    By  Octave  Thanet.    Illustrated 

by  Thomas  Fogarty.    Elaborate  wrapper  in  colors. 

A  wealthy  New  England  spinster  with  the  most  elaborate 

plans  for  the  education  of  the  negro  goes  to  visit  her  nephew 

m  Arkansas,  where  she  learns  the  needs  of  the  colored  race 

first  hand  and  begins  to  lose  her  theories. 

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